


Nothing Else Will Do

by fineinthemorning



Category: Persona 5
Genre: A Lying Liar That Lies A Lot, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Miscommunication, POV Multiple, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2018-11-23 07:57:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 68,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11398344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fineinthemorning/pseuds/fineinthemorning
Summary: Coffee shop conversations. Secrets kept. Battles won and lost.Our lives are the coalescence of small moments. No matter how short, it's these precious moments that teach us how to trust, to love, and live. They share more and more of these moments together, and from there, their lives change and take shape to become a shared wish.





	1. 9/23

Akechi Goro had been coming to Leblanc off and on for nearly a month now, and Akira was beginning to wonder if it was only because the detective prince never wanted to go home. Akira had become very concerned with Ohya and Kawakami over the last few weeks as well as a girl who was teaching him shougi and he’d also started helping Iwai out with some of his personal issues. He’d been able to stay and help Sojiro with Leblanc only a handful of times, but, somehow, every single time, he’d seen Akechi there. Needless to say, no matter how late Akira came home from his time with the others, he’d often see Akechi leave just at closing time as if the teen only went home because he had no other choice.

 _‘I do quite well by myself these days._ ’

Akira wasn’t so sure about that. If that were the case, why did he spend so much time at Leblanc? Why did he always look tired, his eyes a little swollen and his expressions a little cracked around the edges? Why had Akira heard his stomach growl on more than one occasion? What was he thinking about all of those hours he spent there alone when he didn’t have his work sprawling over the bar?

It was an evening Akira had decided to stay and help Sojiro at Leblanc that Akechi, once again, had arrived to sit at the same spot at the bar and order the same cup of coffee.

There were a handful of customers, but Sojiro had pulled up a stool and was speaking to some regulars at the last booth by the stairs, so it left Akira to tend to the couple in the booth by the door and one seemingly permanent fixture at the bar,  Akechi Goro. After serving the couple their curry and refilling their drinks, Akira was left to himself behind the counter. Finally. Weeks had gone by, and they’d only had the chance to have short, polite conversations with frequent visitor. Hopefully, this evening, Akira could walk away with something more.

“You have a favorite movie?” he asked casually as soon as their eyes had met.

Goro looked up from the crossword puzzle he’d been only half attempting, “What?” He had heard the other high schooler, but he wasn’t sure what he’d heard had been right. It was a random and unnecessary question and certainly something he hadn’t expected ever to be asked through those lips.

Akira leaned forward causally onto the bar with his shoulders hunched and his weight heavy against the wood just beside the jars of coffee beans that lined up behind the entertainingly large yellow payphone. “Do you have a favorite movie?” he repeated.

Akechi smiled, the picture of pleasant as he set down the crossword puzzle, “This is rather sudden.”

“So, you don’t?” Akira left his tone detached with just a hint of accusation. To others, he likely sounded like a tease, like he was trying to goad Akechi into something dangerous or even salacious, but he knew that Akechi wouldn’t hear it that way. It wasn’t Akira’s intention, but he did want Akechi to see at least a hint of his disappointment. He was, actually, willing to invest quite a bit of time in learning more about Akechi Goro despite what he already knew, but with what he had already seen, Akechi didn’t genuinely want _anyone_ to get close to him. He could say things like ‘ _talking to you is thought-provoking_ ’, but then never actually reveal anything about himself in the conversations they did share. Though, if Akira was being fair, learning about his mother and the childhood he spoke of so casually certainly was more than he’d expected. Still, he hadn’t been rewarded with anything since that . . . not even a favorite movie. A lot could also be said with that information. Perhaps Akira was reading too much into it, but sharing such personal information like that and then never giving any details or attempting any sort of deepening of their relationship since, somehow just felt like a strange cry for help. Like, maybe Akechi wanted to discuss these things but he was too scared or something. There was something holding him back from sharing more. Or not.

Akechi looked thoughtful only for a moment before replying easily, “I mean, I saw _Captain America_ recently and--”

The barista straightened up and let the smile on his lips shine through to a smirk, “No, no, I’m not interested in whatever is popular right now.” And, it was popular now. It had come out in Japan just two weeks prior and the general public had gone mad over it, merchandise popping up in the strangest of places. Truth be told, Akira had already seen it, too. Who knows, maybe Akechi did like it, but something told him it wasn’t his _favorite_.

Goro looked taken aback, only for a second, and then he smiled pleasantly again, “Well, then, let me think about it . . .” He clearly hadn’t expected Kurusu to word things in such a way. It was almost as if he knew that he was being lied to, or rather, that Goro would just say whatever pleased other people to hear. It was a made-for-TV answer, one he had at the ready should the need arise on air. With Kurusu’s words, he wondered if he knew that, and that was why he was demanding a different answer.

“ . . .” Akira waited, his eyes expectant. Akechi’s eyes studied the grains in the paper the crossword had been printed on without saying anything else. Akira ran fingers through his messy hair and sighed, “You really don’t have one?” He was a little disappointed, but something inside him told him that maybe he should have expected it. Did Akechi watch movies? What did he do for fun, or was _this_ it--sitting in Leblanc for hours nursing never more than three cups of coffee?

“I guess not,” Akechi said, looking as if the question was a lot more serious than only the attempt at a casual conversation. He recovered quickly from the blow, and he smiled pleasantly and cocked his head to the side slightly, “I’m sorry to have disappointed you, Kurusu-kun.”

“Or are you being shy?” Akira smiled again, leaning down to rest over the bar counter to look up into Akechi’s face with teasing eyes behind black rimmed lenses.

Akechi turned aside, shifted, and said quickly as he crossed his arms, “I can assure you that I am not.” He was smiling, but his tone was insistent.

Akira’s heart jumped. There it was. Akechi was teasing back and it felt like a quick jolt of electricity to his heart, keeping it beating now just a bit faster. Without thinking, he said suddenly, “We can figure it out if you like . . . together.”

“I’m sorry?” Akechi squinted his eyes, confused, like he hadn’t heard the other correctly. He uncrossed his arms and turned in the stool back towards Akira.

Akira stood up straight again and waved it off, “Nevermind.” He looked around for something to busy himself with. Oh, the couple had left. They had left their money in the open cannister at the end of the booth table where Akira had left the check. Akira made his way around the counter to bus the table.

Sojiro, currently still invested in speaking with the regulars, didn’t even look up as he passed behind him.

Akechi, however, followed him with his eyes and then turned around all the way to speak to Akira as he worked on cleaning up the mess and pocketing the tab in his apron.

“I’m assuming you do have a favorite film?” Akechi hadn’t expected Akira to initiate a conversation only for himself to make a splendid mess of the opportunity.

“I have a few.” Akira answered without looking at him. With the plates and cups stacked for easy removal, Akira effectively picked up everything off the table and walked it over to the sink. After going back to wipe down the booth table, Akira returned without doing the dishes. While putting the money into the register, he asked casually, “Have you ever seen _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind_?”

Akechi blinked, curious. It was an interesting name, “No. Is it recent?”

Akira chuckled lightly, “No, but, to be fair, I only saw it just recently.” Unlike Goro, he watched films entirely out of pleasure, not out of a necessity to please others or keep up appearances. Akira believed something could be learned from every film--even the ones that were not that high in quality, though, he tried to see films that at least received some positive reviews. He didn’t have a favorite genre or anything, which made it easy for him to be anyone’s movie buddy, and he enjoyed seeing films in theaters, but he wouldn’t call himself a movie buff or anything like that. They were just something he enjoyed.

When Akira looked back over to Akechi, he saw that the fake smile had returned, “I don’t have a lot of time for films; I have my work as a detective, anyway.”

It killed Akira’s mood to see Akechi look at him like that. In response, he simply smiled politely before he went back to work. The part-time barista was typically talented at saying nothing more than he needed to. He’d tackle the dishes. So much for learning more about the famous Akechi Goro. Teeny Bopper magazine responses only, please. Here’s his beautiful smile, his blood type, his star sign, and a glimpse into his tragic backstory. Akira’s mind wandered to a strangely dark place.

Several minutes passed before Akechi finally settled on something. “ _Unbreakable_ ,” He said aloud without getting anyone’s attention.

The barista was too enveloped in his work to respond, but, fortunately for Akechi, he had just finished washing the dishes and turned off the water.

“ _Unbreakable_ ,” the detective prince said louder.

“What is?” Akira looked at him while working a dry cloth around a plate.

“No, it’s a movie,” Goro smiled, ever pleasant. Didn’t Kurusu want to know?

Akira put the plate away and tossed the towel over his shoulder as he walked over. “So you _were_ being shy?”

Akechi ignored the comment and kept his unfaltering smile in place, “It’s about a reluctant hero.”

Akira leaned back into the wall behind him, careful to find a post so that he wasn’t leaning into one of the shelves, “I’m surprised. You take me as someone who wouldn’t go for that.”

“Why?” was all Goro could think to ask in response. He found himself incredibly interested in what Kurusu Akira thought of him . . . or, at least, his taste in movies.

“Well, reluctant heroes usually don’t want to be involved,” Akira pointed out, “Usually, they don’t want to make a change or take a stance, at times even if they’re capable.” That didn’t appear to be true for Akechi at all--not when he was showing up on Japanese variety shows on a near weekly basis to talk about an incredibly serious job that kept him nearly _always busy_. A reluctant hero would never agree to be on a variety show, or so Akira assumed. He wasn’t one by any stretch of the facts.

Akechi didn’t catch the remark as something about himself, or, if he did, he didn’t show it in the slightest. Instead, he appeared to take Kurusu’s words at face value, “But they do anyway.” ‘ _They’re selfless_ ’ is what he didn’t say. Goro admired that. It was something he had never been and never would be.

Akira only nodded to him, watching him as he gave the non-verbal signal to continue.

And so Akechi did, his false smile slowly fading into something thoughtful, “Even if they’re forced into it, even if it’s against what they want, they still choose to do what’s right.” Akira said nothing, but their eyes met, and again, Akira felt that small jolt of electricity that came from seeing into Akechi’s eyes nearly into his soul. Akechi couldn’t look away. He finally ended with, “They follow through on their own sense of justice.”

“You own it?” Akira asked.

“No,” the other replied plainly. In fact, he hadn’t seen it in years.

“We could rent it and--” the words spilled from Akira’s lips once more without thought or consideration.

Akechi’s walls went back up immediately, “I don’t really have time for that.”

“Right.” Akira cleared his face of emotion again. What a blatant lie. He should have seen that coming. Why had he asked twice? He needed to be more cautious around Akechi Goro; he knew that, but . . . The truth was that he simply didn’t want to be. Akira went back to drying dishes.

When he finished, he walked back over to Akechi to see him on his phone, tapping a the screen and reading what was written as the device glowed from where it lay on the counter. “A romantic comedy?” Akechi questioned without looking up from the contents of what was on his screen. “I didn’t expect that,” he sounded amused.

Akira moved closer to look over at the screen himself, reading upside down. “It’s not really. At least, I didn’t think it was.” He realized he was too close when he could smell Akechi’s shampoo.

“Really?” Goro looked up, and they realized how close they were. Goro smiled as he leaned back in his chair a bit as if he weren’t trying to avoid how obviously uncomfortable it made him, “Amazon says it is.”

Akira created his own distance by straightening up and playing with his hair absently by rubbing some of it between his fingers, “I still have it. I haven’t returned it yet. We could watch it and you could decide for yourself.” He was willing to incur late fees for Akechi Goro; surely that didn’t mean anything.

Goro responded automatically, “Thank you for the invitation but--”

“You don’t have time.” Akira finished his rejection for him, expecting it.

“Right,” Akechi supplied, nearly disappointed with the refusal that so easily fell from his lips.

“I get it,” Akira said quickly, his response rough around the edges as he turned his back to Akechi and busied himself with dishes in the sink that had recently been placed there by Sojiro, the conversation effectively over.

Akechi picked up the crossword puzzle and stared at the checkered blocks of which only a few contained letters. He wondered what it would take to satisfy Kurusu’s curiosity. Because, really, that’s all it was, right? In the span of just over a half hour, Kurusu had tried making plans with him three times. Why? Why would he want to spend time with him?

Akira, oblivious now to the new inner conflict that sprung up inside the regular customer, decided on one thing; he would have to rent ‘ _Unbreakable_ ’.


	2. 9/26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are spoilers for 'Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind' in this chapter. It's thirteen years old, so hopefully, you have already seen it. If not, please see it. T-T I chose it for the purpose of the conversation, but also, I headcanon that Akira likes films and reads "Best Movies of All Time" lists to watch them on occasion. This title shows up on those occasionally.

“You never told me about Hawaii.”

Strangely enough, Akechi Goro was at Leblanc before Akira had even returned home from school. It made him wonder if he had even attended school that day, but he didn’t ask. There were some things that he believed may be better left unsaid; he imagined it was likely not something he should point out as his peer or as his kohai.

Akira had returned from setting his things down and changing upstairs when he’d come down and Goro had addressed him. Instead of putting on the green apron behind the counter and joining Sojiro, Akira sat next to Goro on his right on the stool near the yellow payphone. He put his elbow on the counter and rested his head in his hand so that he was facing Akechi, Sojiro, and the rest of the cafe, “You’re right. What do you want to know?”

If Goro was uncomfortable with his close proximity, he didn’t show it. Instead, he turned slightly in his chair and mirrored Akira’s posture and rested his head in his hand as well, “What was it like there? America?” Goro offered something else, as if it would help Kurusu understand his meaning. “I don’t attend a private school,” was the only clarification he’d allow. He knew that Kurusu was intelligent enough to fit the pieces together.

And, Akira was. If Akechi had been in foster care before, he’d likely never been out of the country. At most, his foster family may have traveled within Japan, but getting off the islands was expensive. Plus, if he didn’t attend a private school as Akira did, there likely wasn’t excess funds for such an extravagant school trip. Usually, public schools just took their students somewhere within the main island or even within Tokyo, depending. So likely, no, there had never been a chance for Akechi to leave the country.

It felt strange, and it didn’t sit well with Akira at all. Akechi seemed like someone who was made to travel. He was intelligent and inquisitive; it went unsaid that Akechi likely had a lot to learn from such experiences and likely desperately wanted them.

What else had Akechi been deprived of? Just what did _growing up in foster care_ actually entail?

Wait a minute. How was he able to pay for cram school, then? Didn’t he attend the same cram school as Makoto? A red flag went up. What was Akechi’s living situation like now? If he went to cram school, especially one as nice as the one Makoto attended, then it was expensive. Was it something he could afford with the money he received from studio time?

Akechi watched Kurusu’s mind work quickly behind his eyes. Though his acquaintance's wit and intelligence could easily be used against him, he still couldn’t help but admire him for the natural traits he possessed. A few minutes had passed; the barista had likely gotten caught up in his own thoughts. Akechi wondered absently if he was the one being thought of but quickly silenced the thought. It wouldn’t matter in the end. “Kurusu-kun?” he asked politely, hair falling in his face as he tilted his head to the side inquisitively.

“Hm?” Akira expertly hid his embarrassment. How long had he been trapped in his own thoughts?

Akechi straightened up and then let an arm fall to the counter so that he could grip the handle of his coffee mug, “Aren’t you going to tell me?”

Of course. He could do that. “The school didn’t plan anything for the trip, so we spent most of our time at the resort hotel and the beach.”

Akechi waited. That wasn’t good enough. Surely something else had happened? They went somewhere? Did something? Met interesting people? Delighted in delicious food? _Anything?_ Kurusu would make a terrible variety show guest.

Akira met Akechi’s waiting eyes as if he could hear the thoughts running through his mind. What else could he say? “It felt a lot like Japan,” he started. “We were able to practice our English, but a surprising number of people, especially at restaurants and shops, spoke Japanese or had someone on staff that did.”

Akechi nodded knowingly, “A great many Japanese have been immigrating there for over a hundred years. It’s also the number one vacation spot for the Japanese.”

Akira nodded casually only to see Akechi give the smallest sigh. It was almost . . . _cute_. Akechi clearly wanted to know more, but he appeared to have just given up with finding anything out from Akira. “You look disappointed,” Akira finally said. Akechi shook his head politely but said nothing. Of course, he was. Akira tried to think of something that stood out to him, “The beach was unlike one I’d ever been to here. The water was clear and the sand was fine and soft, so you would walk barefoot. The sunsets on the beach were colors I’d never seen. We had some local specialties.”

Akechi didn’t look up and Akira felt confused when he saw that he his cheeks had taken color. He was blushing. Where had that come from?

“Like garlic shrimp?” Akechi looked into his coffee and Akira turned so that he could lean back against the bar. There were three other customers, so Sojiro was tending to them. It wasn’t enough to elicit Akira’s help, but if another party walked in, he’d likely join him by serving or making curry. A part of him wanted to stay right where he was.

He spoke to the wall, not looking at Akechi but knowing he heard him, “Yes, but we had other things like Huli Huli Chicken and fish tacos.”

Akechi watched Kurusu only a moment before his eyes flitted over to the back wall of the bar, “There’s a Hawaiian restaurant in Ikebukuro. They serve spam musubi and malasadas there.”

“Malasadas?” Akira’s interest piqued.

Akechi finally turned back to him, looking at him with a small, pleasant smile as Akira relaxed against the wooden bar, “They’re a thick, sugary doughnut, originally from Portugal, I believe.”

“I didn’t have any,” he admitted. In truth, he had never heard of them.

“You should. They’re very good.”

Akira sat up again and looked over to the detective prince, his eyes hiding behind the glare on his glasses, “Is that an invitation?”

Akechi chuckled, “I’m fairly busy, but you can take your friends. It’s called Big Wave.”

“You don’t want to join us?” Akira tried again.

Akechi’s refusal came out automatic and rehearsed, “You’re too kind. Thank you, but no, like I said, I’m--”

“Busy,” Akira finished. He turned his back to him.

Akechi tried to recover, “Oh, I watched it.” Was Kurusu pouting? His behavior appeared rather childish. Was he really so disappointed that Akechi wouldn’t join him at the restaurant that he turned away from him?

“ . . .” Akira didn’t respond. He wasn’t quite sure what Akechi was referring to. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure how many times he could be rejected. It wasn’t pride, exactly, but it was certainly discouraging. How thick were Akechi Goro’s walls? His friends were contacting him nearly every day to hang out. It didn’t seem like Akechi was uncomfortable in his presence. In fact, he was often the person to start conversations between them. Being busy was also clearly a lie, because, especially lately, he was almost always here, and he sometimes did crossword puzzles instead of work on whatever was in his briefcase. What was the problem? It didn’t seem like their interactions were a lie. Rather, Akechi had said that he felt comfortable and free to be himself here.

“ _The Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind_ ,” Akechi clarified.

That caught the other’s attention. He turned around, his eagerness to hear Akechi’s opinions on the film apparent only in the fact that he had now given him his full attention. His face portrayed none of the curiosity he held regarding the matter, “Oh, did you like it?” He didn’t ask him where he had _found the time_. That would have been tactless, and, while Akira could be flirtatious or sarcastic at times, he was never tactless.

“Well, it was . . .” Akechi’s smile faltered for just a second.

Akira had caught it. Without meaning to, he smiled gently at the other boy, “Be honest,” he encouraged.

Akechi’s tone remained neutral, “That’s the second time you’ve inferred that I’m lying.”

Akira frowned, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shrugged and pushed his glasses up on his nose, “I just want your honest opinion.”

“No,” Akechi said lightly, his tone sounding like he’d actually replied in the affirmative.

“I saw that coming,” he replied coolly and casually; he took no offense to it. He’d been thinking on his Akechi may have responded to seeing the film, though, truth be told, he didn’t think Akechi would ever actually take the time to watch it. The fact that he had made him happy. It made something stir inside him that wasn’t unpleasant.

“Really? Why?” Akechi became instantly invested.

Akira noticed, but he didn’t change his neutral expression, “You didn’t like the ending, right?”

Akechi waited a moment as if he was either remembering what had happened or debating the honesty of his response. He finally settled on, “No, I didn’t.”

Without missing a beat, the question Akira had been prepared to ask escaped his lips, “Akechi-kun, have you ever been in love?”

“Excuse me?” His walls were up instantly, marked by the pleasant smile on his face and the made-for-TV charm he was suddenly emitting as if a switch had been flipped.

Akira didn’t like it, but only smiled pleasantly back. He would take that as a ‘no’. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Akechi remained pleasant despite his growing frustration, “No, I understood the film just fine.” He elaborated to make a point,  “Joel and Clementine became too close to one another, to the point that they freely indulged in their faults even if it resulted in harming the other. The resulting break-up was too painful for Clementine, so she had her memories of Joel erased. When he discovered this, he had the same procedure done, but part way through, he realized it was a mistake. He wanted to remember the good times they shared with one another even if that meant that he’d be forced to remember the painful times as well. However, the procedure went on. The audience realizes that the first scene of the film was them actually meeting and falling in love for the second time. The truth regarding that they were once in a relationship before, one that was so painful that they had their memories erased in order to recover from it, is revealed to them by way of their own recorded voices on cassette tapes. However, despite knowing how their last attempt ended and that they would likely end up in the same place again thus inflicting a huge amount of pain onto one another, they decide to begin a romantic relationship anyway.”

“How poetic of you,” came Akira’s sarcastic comment with a smirk on his lips.

Akechi did not frown as he was still hiding himself behind his well-sculpted mask, but he did contend, “But that’s . . . ludicrous.” Truly, Akechi didn’t understand the last part. It was ridiculous to try and make something like that work when previously they had destroyed one another so thoroughly. Their actions were just insane; the film was entirely unrelatable.

Akira frowned, looked away, blinked his eyes, “You’re going to hurt my feelings.”

Akechi stared, suddenly unsure of what to say, “Oh, I mean--”

Akira turned back to him, smiling mischievously, “I was joking.”

Akechi held back the urge to slap that ridiculous grin right off of his face. Instead, he let out a monotone, “You’re insufferable, Kurusu-kun,” because if he attempted to attach any emotion to it, it would likely fail and his annoyance and anger would probably show through ten-fold. Akira didn’t respond, however, and it left the both of them in a loud silence. Akira was watching him, and Akechi was searching his eyes. He was looking for him to break the silence, a challenge to prove him wrong, anything for Kurusu to speak, but the second-year said nothing. It was the longest stretch of time Akechi had looked into Akira’s eyes. He knew them to be gray, but sometimes, they appeared incredibly dark. Not black, obviously, but dark enough that the mystery behind them became even more difficult to discern. Hematite. They shined dark enough to reflect any attempts at seeing beyond them as if, when they were this color, Kurusu had put up a second wall of defense behind the lenses of his glasses. Akechi felt trapped staring into them. How was it that Kurusu could be so confident, his speech and presence so flawless? Neither blinked. “Are you inferring that after having been in love, one can understand the decision they made?”

Akira had been in a relationship before, but it was never anything serious. At the time, he did care about her, though. He wasn’t sure if he’d call it ‘love’. He wasn’t really a romantic by any means, but the end of the film had really stayed with him. He didn't cry or anything, but it had been difficult trying to fall asleep that night. Akira believed he understood it, and he was sure he’d have done the same.

“I’m sure it helps,” was all he said, nearly apologetic. He didn’t realize his harmless teasing would prove to be the opposite. Was Akechi’s ego so fragile? No, surely not.

Akechi did more than look away. He turned away to busy himself with his nearly empty coffee mug. He no longer appeared to have the energy to continue the conversation, but found himself continuing it anyway, “ . . . I found the other concept expressed in the film to be more interesting.” With his hands gripping the mug, he absently rubbed his thumb against the rim, “Purity has no past.” He was feeling himself relax again. All he had to do was avoid eye contact. He elaborated, “To have no memory or history is the only way one can be termed as innocent.”

“Like with children?” Akira offered.

“Infants?” Akechi took it a step further.

“That concept isn’t easy to argue against,” Akira admitted. It wasn’t that he was attempting or trying to do so; it was that it seemed like an obvious conclusion.

“So you agree?” Akechi asked.

Akira gave a stipulation, “Well, I do think people can be pure in intention.” Akechi lowered his head. When he said nothing, Akira verbalized, “You disagree.” It wasn’t a question.

Without meaning to, Akechi turned back to look at Kurusu, “Everyone acts with the intention to gain something for themselves, even if that something is merely the self-satisfaction from having helped someone in need.”

Akira smiled, “That sounds like a different argument altogether.”

“Is it?” Akechi reflected a moment before moving on, “There is no such thing as pure intention because people are not innocent themselves.”

Akira blinked. He hadn’t expected something like that from the person who smiled about truth and justice on TV, seemingly selfless in his quest to uncover the truth whatever the consequences.

Akechi turned back to his coffee, took a deep breath, exhaled, and apologized, “Excuse me . . . I got too comfortable again.”

“No such thing,” Akira replied honestly. It was refreshing, really, to hear and see Akechi speak with such conviction, even if the content of what was being said was a bit . . . dark.

Akechi gave that familiar somber smile, “If you say so, Kurusu-kun.”

Akira tried to lighten his mood with another mischievous smirk, “I guess this means you’ll never take another movie suggestion from me again?”

It worked. Akechi waved the notion off as he recovered, “It wasn’t a terrible film. It just wasn’t something I personally enjoyed.”

“Was it a romantic comedy?” he asked.

“Certainly not,” Akechi replied easily, his head turned to meet the other’s eyes again.

Akira smiled back at him warmly, a touch more affectionate than he’d realized, “At least we can agree on that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading! Thank you for the encouragement!


	3. 9/30

“Is it part of the contract?” Akira was cleaning some things by the door with a duster. They were the only two there, and Leblanc was due to close in about twenty minutes. Sojiro never said anything about Akechi staying till closing, but truly, most nights, had Akechi not been there, Sojiro would have just closed the cafe early. 

“Hmm?” Akechi looked up from his work. He’d been reading diligently, sighing every now and again, so they hadn’t spoken much beyond a greeting that evening. It was a case outside of the one he had been working on with Sae, something small that an officer had asked assistance from him for. After claiming it had to do with people his age, the officer had requested his help. As if Akechi could relate to people his age. Most people his age were idiots. Scratch that. Most people were idiots. It was a case that mostly required fact gathering and making connections. At this point, he was just looking for the pattern.

“You haven’t brought a girlfriend to Leblanc. Are you not allowed to have any as an idol?” Akira was clearly teasing, maybe even flirting, despite the dryness of his tone, but if anyone pointed it out, he’d only reply that he was just bored. It wasn’t untrue. Everything had been put away for the night. He’d really only been dusting because there was literally nothing else to do, and, since Akechi had decided to use the counter of Leblanc as his personal work desk, he couldn’t close up and head to bed. Getting a rise out of Akechi Goro would help pass the time nicely, even if it was oftentimes somewhat of a challenge.

Akechi replied with pleasantly feigned offense, “I don’t know if you’re insulting me or not right now.” 

Akira didn’t respond verbally but instead just wiggled his eyebrows with a smirk. He absently wondered if Akechi was straight, but his curiosity was fleeting.

Akechi sighed to keep himself from allowing laughter to escape. His defenses had been defeated rather quickly this evening, “That is too often the case with you.”

Akira felt relieved that they were alone. Akechi always seemed more human when it was just the two of them. 

With that comment, either Akechi was teasing back or being brutally honest. Surely it was the first? “I’m insulting?” And, Akechi didn’t dislike ‘ _ insulting _ ’, correct? Otherwise, why had he come to Leblanc three times in the last week? 

Well, unless he was suspicious of Kurusu for being a Phantom Thief. That was really the only obvious answer and, most likely, the truth. Akira put down the duster behind the bar and opened the stepladder to have a place to sit while speaking to the detective prince. He didn’t want to be the object of Akechi’s attention only because he suspected him of being involved with the Phantom Thieves. He didn’t want the reason behind Leblanc being Akechi’s favorite haunt being only that he wanted to send Akira to prison for forcibly changing people’s hearts.

But, to Akira’s surprise, Akechi responded to his question in a regretful tone. “I didn’t mean that,” and his expression had been painted apologetic. 

Akira waited, studying Akechi quietly. The boy was a year his senior, but that was easy to forget. His features, especially with the expression he wore now, appeared just on the borderline of delicate, feminine even. His eyebrows curved upward and his lips were pursed. His brown eyes were dark with remorse. Akira hadn’t really expected this to be the result of some harmless teasing, but for as often as they were able to read one another, there were times when they didn’t quite connect.

Akechi offered no explanation, so Akira was left to just take it as a misunderstanding. He’d been joking, and Akechi had taken it seriously. Perhaps too seriously. It wasn’t the first time, but he wished the other would relax around him a bit more.

Akechi finally looked up, his expression appearing neutral once more and his tone taking on that same familiar, pleasant ring, “How about yourself? You appear to have so many people around you.”

“I do,” Akira admitted easily. He couldn’t even count them on two hands. “Luck,” he provided. He didn’t really understand what people saw in him. He was just trying to live his life doing what he thought was right. He was respectful and kind to most people and typically showed mercy when met with an enemy. He didn’t do more than what he thought was necessary. Still, since he had come to Tokyo, so many people had gathered around him; he’d received the aid and support of so many. Truthfully, it was the only reason the Phantom Thieves had been successful thus far. He didn’t even realize he hadn’t answered the original question.

Akechi understood the admission to be an address to the original question and not how Akira had intended. So, he did have someone he was seeing? Akechi didn’t expect that because he hadn’t seen Kurusu around one person more often than another. In truth, he appeared to spread himself thin among so many. He didn’t pry, however; it would probably come off as suspicious. He couldn’t act too interested. “Luck? Perhaps charisma?” Akechi offered. 

Akira blinked. If all it took was a certain amount of charm to surround yourself and form strong bonds with good people, then why was Akechi always alone? He decided not to go down that route. Akechi was not entirely himself this evening. He didn’t want to make things worse. Instead, he attempted to tease him again, “Are you complimenting me, Akechi-kun?”

This time, Akechi picked up on it expertly and smiled pleasantly at Akira’s smirking face, “Don’t misunderstand, Kurusu-kun.” 

Akira’s smirk melted into a genuine smile, and, after a moment, Akechi looked away and returned his attention to his work, picking up his pen to mark one of the papers with slashes and circles. He could feel Kurusu’s eyes on him as he read. It made progress impossible. That’s when he noticed it. “Ah, I haven’t heard this music before.”

“It hasn’t been played here before.”

“I liked the other music,” Akechi replied without thinking, his tone detached, and if Akira was listening, honest in a way only exhaustion could produce so naturally.

Akira turned over his hand a few times as it traveled towards Akechi as if he were humbly obliging his command, “Excuse me Akechi-sama; let me change it right away.”

And, to Akira’s surprise, Akechi snorted sharply, gave a half-smile, and shook his head slowly. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, meeting the other’s eyes only for a second, and then looking away.

Akira had never seen that expression. He appeared genuinely amused like he’d found the comment both funny and ridiculous at the same time, so he’d settled on something short of outright laughter. In that brief moment, Akechi looked . . .  _ alluring _ . Akira’s mouth felt dry. “I changed it about a half hour ago. I like the other music, too, and Sojiro requires it, but it gets repetitive.”

“It does,” Goro admitted. He stared at an empty space somewhere between them, clearly just listening to what he was hearing now as if he was trying to identify it. Finally, he asked, “What are we listening to now?”

“PDP,” Akira replied.

Akechi had never heard of them, or him, or whatever. Then again, he didn’t make it a habit of listening to music anyway. He knew of what was popular, but he never made active attempts to actually listen at length. His thoughts were distracted now. Did Kurusu’s girlfriend know who PDP was? No, that didn’t matter. Akechi finally blinked. He needed to sleep.

Akira watched as the detective prince picked up a few to the papers and pulled them away to view a stack beneath, his pen marking the skin of his cheek in the process. Akechi was too tired to notice? Akira smiled, now wondering how he should tell him he had marked his face in pen. He’d indulge for now in how funny he looked with a black line across his face. 

“PDP is not popular, so I don’t expect you to know him,” Akira filled the air in Akechi’s absence.

“You can’t resist, can you?” Akechi could hear everything Akira wasn’t saying. 

That little jab had not been so rewarding. Akechi had taken offense. Was he grouchy when he was tired? Akira elaborated, “He’s a Chinese composer. He was heavily influenced by Nujabes.”

“Nujabes?” Akechi’s eyes were glued to his work. He flipped the papers over and began marking the backsides. 

“Nevermind,” Akira relented.

Akechi finally looked up again, “This is the kind of music you and your girlfriend listen to?” He sounded tired, and, in fact, unpleasant.

Akira blinked behind the lenses of his glasses. Where had he gone wrong? “I listen to everything,” he admitted.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Akechi said quickly.

Akira then added, “And, I think you misunderstood me. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Their eyes met. Akechi’s eyebrows traveled up on his forehead and his face stretched in small surprise. Akira had seen the expression when they were at the TV studio; it was one he typically used in front of an audience. “Oh,” was all he said.

Akira let it go and brought them back to the music, his eyes still on Akechi’s left cheek, “I like instrumental music a lot, though.”

Akechi appeared revived somehow, and his right eyebrow quirked up as he sardonically replied, “Oh, a preference. Color me surprised.” 

Akira drank in the moment. Sarcasm? Had he read those words correctly? What had Akira done to receive such a blessing? Wait. Why did he consider it a blessing? Was it really so important to him that Akechi be honest with him? That Akechi open up to him? And if so, why? Was it because Akechi didn’t automatically share his life’s problems like everyone else around Akira? Because he was a challenge? Or, because he was suspicious? Was it for the Phantom Thieves that he was making the effort? Or, was it for himself?

Caught up in his thoughts, he remembered to respond, his expression blank, but his tone of voice playful, “Now who is being mean?” 

Akechi winked, “Mean? Me? Never.” 

Akira smiled, his eyes tracing the features of Akechi’s genuine expressions once more. He could get used to seeing that mischief in his eyes; he could get used to tongue-in-cheek responses. Akechi noticed Akira’s eyes on him and he straightened up in the chair, clearly struggling back and forth between playing two roles, rehearsing two characters, portraying two personas. He straightened his papers as if readying himself to leave. “What are you staring at?”

“Your face,” Akira replied honestly, not hearing how contentious he sounded. There it was. His opportunity had finally arrived.

Akechi narrowed his eyes, confused and looking insulted, “Excuse me?”

“You marked yourself with your pen,” Akira clarified. He pulled out his cell phone from one of the pockets in his apron, swiped to the camera, flipped it for selfie photos, and then held it up in front of Akechi.

Akechi looked and, sure enough, there it was, several centimeters long crossing over half his face. How had he not noticed? “Oh. Thank you,” he responded politely, trying not to blush too much considering it was something so small. How long had it been there? 

“Here, I’ll get it,” Akira pulled out one of the previously prepared oshibori. It was still slightly warm in his hands. 

“No that’s--” Akechi’s words caught in his throat. Akira had leaned over the bar counter, put his right hand under Akechi’s chin, and very gently, had begun wiping, in small, pressured strokes at Akechi’s left cheek.

“It’ll be quick,” he said, moving Goro’s cheek to the side by turning his chin and leaning in to see more closely.

Akechi felt himself hold his breath as he became hyper-aware of how close the other had gotten yet again. Didn’t Kurusu understand personal boundaries? Akechi made his hands fists as he felt the warm, damp cloth gently move across his face. He should have left an hour ago. He was clearly exhausted. He hadn’t eaten dinner. This conversation had ended up something he just hadn’t been prepared for and he was always prepared. Around Kurusu, he had to be. He expertly showed none of his frustration in his face. It was taking everything in him to not pull away with a slap and a hiss. How dare he make him feel trapped? How dare he touch him firmly but tenderly, like he was exerting some kind of compassionate control over him? 

“There,” Akira moved away, letting go of the detective prince in the process. With his eyes, he checked his work. Good as new. Except, he noticed the circles under Akechi’s eyes now. He noticed him exhale a second too long as if he’d been holding his breath. He noticed his cheeks were a shade darker in color. A part of him regretted his actions. For how much he’d grown to enjoy unnerving Akechi Goro, this time, he felt guilty . . . like he’d kicked a man when was already down. 

“Th-thank you.” Akechi didn’t look at him, but Akira noticed that his cheeks had gone from pink to red at this point. 

Akira tilted his head down some until he was sure that the glare from the lights above was hiding the thirst in them. He’d been given too much in one evening. He hadn’t been prepared for Akechi--these sides of Akechi. Seeing them once had undone so much in his perception of the boy. He’d never be able to unsee them now. He’d never be satisfied. 

Akira blinked, unaware that his own face had taken color. He absently folded the oshibori in his hands as he reviewed the newly-made memories of the recently revealed expressions of one Akechi Goro. 

“It’s past nine. I should be going now.”

Akira looked up suddenly, pulled from his thoughts. He checked his phone. It was ten minutes past closing time. Whoops. He’d never missed it before. 

“Night.” He said casually as Akechi closed his briefcase, his money already on the counter. A part of Akira wanted to stop him from leaving, but he couldn’t stop him, so he doesn’t try. Also, whatever part of him it was, it most certainly wasn’t the rational one.  

Akechi’s mask was back in place as if he’d only just realized it had fallen off, “Goodnight, Kurusu-kun.”

And, he leaves.

Akira sat back down on the step ladder and tossed the oshibori onto the counter. This evening had been . . . a mistake. 

Oh well. Whatever would possibly come from it, Akira would cross that bridge when he came to it. Until then, he’d remember the sarcasm in his voice, review the mischief in his eyes, and indulge in the Akechi Goro that was  _ pleasant _ in a way he’d never shown a live studio audience. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, sex appeal.  
> Haha, I hate the idea that they're just magically always on the same wavelength in understanding because that's entirely unrealistic, so I tried to write a conversation in which they weren't but Akira seemed to benefit from it. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> Comments much appreciated~! Thanks for reading~!


	4. 10/03

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now I must present you with a disclaimer for 'Unbreakable'. This film is 17 years old, and if you haven't seen it yet, well, you're about to be spoiled. An incentive of watching it now though? It will have a sequel in 2019 and it'll make the ending of 'Split' a bit more satisfying.  
> No beta. Forgive me.  
>  ~~Also, because you asked, my Top 3, and really the only ones worth watching, are 'The Sixth Sense', 'Unbreakable', and 'The Village'. Yeah, I know, everyone hated 'The Village'. I thought it was awesome. It's not about the twist, Shyamalan; quit making it about the twist.~~

Akira watched with a hint of a smile as Akechi walked in through the front door of Leblanc,  “Arriving thirty minutes to closing? It must be a new record.”

Sojiro had actually already gone home for the night, and Akira had his hand on the register to close it out for the day.

“I’m sorry, the ‘ _Open_ ’ sign was still up,” the third year fidgeted, hiding his annoyance at Kurusu for putting him in this situation; it wasn’t his fault the sign still read ‘ _Open_ ’ and Sakura-san’s idea of _operating hours_ was loosely translated to _whatever he felt like_. He looked ready to run with his muscles tensed and his body turned toward the door. Despite the pleasant expression on his face, Akira was certain he would bolt any second like a deer sensing danger awaiting its opportunity to escape.

Akira moved away from the register to grab the filtered water and fill the only pot still out enough for two cups. After placing the filter in the siphon and the siphon on top, he switched on the small burner to boil the water. Maybe the deliberate action would communicate to Akechi that he was more than willing to carry out his duties as a barista so long as the sign was still set to ‘ _Open_ ’. He assumed coffee was what Akechi was here for, anyway, so he began pouring the beans for the roast he preferred without question and set them aside. He wouldn’t grind them until the water was ready.

Akechi watched him silently, still not making the choice just yet to sit down. “Am I bothering you?” He offered Akira yet another way out. Akira should have answered to the affirmative. That’s what Akechi was, after all, a bother. Why had he come here? Why, after what had happened, had this been the place he’d wanted to be? He should have squashed the thought, should have silenced the desire, should have killed the need. Killing was typically something he was so good at. His eyes emptied out without him realizing, the life inside them completely sucked dry. He shouldn’t be here now. Really, why was he here?

“What? No, not at all. I was just teasing you.” Akira removed his glasses and smoothed his hair back away from his face before putting them back on so his hair could fall back in messy curls as if he’d never touched it to begin with. He wondered who had the better mask. No, there was no debating that. Akechi was a far better liar than he was--clearly more practiced. That was part of Akira’s interest from the beginning, wasn’t it? He just . . . wanted to help.

Akechi’s smile was a borderline grimace as he sat down in the same seat he always did--second from the end. Akira had seen him like this before in passing on more than one occasion, but it was something he usually recovered from quickly if it wasn’t a lie altogether. There were times when Akira wasn’t sure, and those moments had lasted seconds, so this was all entirely new territory to him.

When Akechi’s disposition didn’t improve, he added, his voice more gentle than he’d intended, “You’re always welcome here; you should know that by now.”

Akechi didn’t say anything. He stared at the counter instead. He knew he was good at lying, but he surprised himself at times. He imagined Loki patting him on the back for his achievements because it was something Loki would do: congratulate him on something that only added to his self-depreciation and encouraged his madness. Akechi had finished the preparations to frame the Phantom Thieves for murder less than an hour ago and here was the leader of that band of trash making him coffee and speaking sweet. His own spit tasted bitter.

It was clear that something was bothering Akechi, but it was also obvious that he wasn’t going to talk about it. That meant that Akira could speak freely without consequence, then. Without giving it any thought, Akira voiced honestly, “I like it when you’re here.”

Just _perfect_. The detective prince couldn’t be sure if the laughter inside himself was his own or Loki’s. Sometimes they sounded different and sometimes their cackles and shrieks were indistinguishable. Akechi looked up at that, his face plainly displaying his disbelief. The genuine expression was gone in a second--just a tease. He was certain Kurusu was just messing with him like he so often was. He struggled with the thought and Akira could read him like a book.

“I have nothing to gain from lying to you,” he said, gentle once more.

Akechi didn’t believe that, either. Neither did Loki. In the room, perhaps no one did.

Maybe it was somewhat of a lie? Akira’s persona of the Justice arcana were stronger when Akechi grew to trust him more. But . . . no, he wasn’t thinking about that. Just like when he helped his other confidants; he acted out of a genuine desire to help his friends. He tried again, “Did something happen?”

Finally, Akechi spoke, his face pleasant, his words pleasant, his eyes still numb. “No, nothing that wasn’t expected.” Which, was actually the truth.

In that moment it was clear to Akira that whatever it was, Akechi came here to escape it. It was beyond his refusal to discuss whatever had happened. Akechi was here to be as far from the day’s reality as possible or maybe even reality itself.

That was fine; Akira had something he wanted to discuss with him instead, anyway. “I watched ‘ _Unbreakable_ ’.”

Akira could literally see the weight lifted from Akechi’s shoulders from the change in the topic of conversation. “Oh, did you like it?”

“One second,” Akira turned on the coffee grinder because the water was ready and he’d need to pour the grounds. With the flip of the switch, it filled the silence of the room like a scream. The whine of the machine called to his attention that he'd already turned off the music for the evening. Maybe he'd share something new with Akechi. He'd never asked what kind of music he liked, and usually, Akira could understand others to some degree knowing that small information.

_'I listen to everything.'_

_'That doesn't surprise me.'_

What did that say about himself? He'd never thought about it. What conclusions had Akechi drawn about him?

Asking for Akechi's favorite film had been more challenging than he'd expected; maybe it was best he didn't travel down the road of favorite music.

When the machine stopped, he walked over to the siphon and poured the ground beans in. With a long, metal spoon, he stirred the grounds in with the water until they were just uniform. He felt Akechi's lifeless eyes on him the whole time.

“It was pretty dark." he told the brewing coffee, "I didn’t realize it was by that one director.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Akechi nod his head once, twice, three times and stop. It looked practiced and mechanical.

“Most of his films are not to my taste.” Akechi's eyes still weren't smiling yet, and while Akira would have normally felt elated to see something other than his facade, seeing his plastic 100-watt smile with eyes sucked dry of the capacity for basic human warmth instead was just borderline heartbreaking and, not to mention, eerie.

“You’ve seen the others?” Akira asked, watching the coffee empty from the top brewing chamber only leaving moist dark grounds behind.

“Some."

“You like superhero films?” He caught Akechi's eyes just a moment but quickly turned his attention back to his work, regretful. He didn't really want to look at him. He poured the coffee into two separate mugs and began to prepare Akechi's the way he liked it.

If Akechi had noticed it, he didn't show it. “Would you call it one?”

Akira wasn't expecting that comeback. With Akechi's line of work and love of justice and solving mysteries and what-not, wouldn't that be right up his alley? But, ' _Unbreakable_ ' wasn't anything like the modern superhero films of today. There wasn't a flashy action scene or witty comedic relief. In fact, the villain wasn't even discovered until the last five minutes of the movie. “Not really, actually,” Akira pressed his lips together in silence a moment, trying to decide where to go from there since discussing why it wasn't a superhero film felt too obvious now. “It was anticlimactic,” he casually criticized.

Akechi's tone was thoughtful, “How does it end again?” At the moment, he could only remember muted colors. Film reflecting mood. He wished it was like that in the palaces. For how fantastic space was, beauty was always a million light years away. Okumura was an idiot. Why was he here?

Akira set down the coffee in front of him and Akechi eyed it a moment before picking it up. That question made Akira wonder if it was even his favorite film. An American film from seventeen years ago that had been forgotten with time despite it being praised by a handful of especially harsh critics? It was as old as Akechi was if not older; he didn’t actually know his birthday. When had he last watched it? “Elijah reveals everything and then it just says that he ended up in an institution on the screen in white text.”

Akechi set down his coffee mug after having taken a sip. “Oh, I remember now,” and then, as if hit with Diarahan, the light returned to his eyes quite suddenly and Akira felt himself audibly sigh in relief.

His reason.

“So that’s boring,” Akira claimed, the smile on his face not matching the tone of his voice.

“How would you have wanted it to end?” Akechi was looking at the perfectly prepared drink, made exactly to his specifications (when had that become normal to expect?) when he asked, his eyes hidden behind the length of his bangs. The inside of his mouth tasted like Leblanc; nothing here was bitter.

Akira set his own coffee mug down on the bar across from Akechi and leaned against the counter where the register sat. He offered the first idea that came to mind, “Maybe Elijah executed some big master plan and then David took him down?”

Akechi, appearing to have forgotten anything that had happened outside this room and the film they were discussing, was now more animated. He winked with an air of innocent mischief that felt a touch too friendly too fast, “That’s not very realistic, though, don’t you think?”

It was a little cheesy, but it made Akira's smile widen nonetheless. It was a lot better than what had walked in ten minutes earlier. “Don’t tell me you were satisfied with the ending.”

“I’d imagine Elijah was,” Akechi remarked cryptically.

Akira didn't agree. “How could he be?”

It had been years, but Akechi could remember this one line word for word, “He asks him at the end what the scariest thing in the world is, right?”

“Yeah,” Akira replied, something like fear scraping at the insides of his bronchial tubes as it threatened to get out. He knew he wouldn't like whatever was coming next.

Akechi didn't notice, clearly invested in explaining the merit of the film's anti-climactic ending, “And he tells him ‘ _To not know your place in this world, to not know why you're here._ ’” He remembered why he liked the film. He could hear Loki laughing somewhere in the back of his mind, or wait, no, was it only him? Oh well; what did it matter? Akechi explained further, completely convinced that the one line spoken by the character played by Samuel L. Jackson personified the importance of more than just the film itself. “All he had wanted was to have a purpose. David gave him that purpose, so, after he _found_ him, _met_ him, and _guided_ him, he knew the purpose of his very existence.”

Akira went quiet, his expressions changing like seasons, slow but specific. Akechi wasn't talking about the film, somehow, but . . . He wasn't saying anything in definitive terms, either. Before, Akechi had mentioned the ' _reluctant hero_ ' as if that had been the reason that he'd liked it, but hearing what he'd just said, seeing him speak so candidly about the words of the villain, he was sure that wasn't the reason behind Akechi's interest at all. Maybe it was the villain, Mr. Glass, himself, or maybe it was the idea that for every absolute good, there was an opposing, absolute evil. The world didn't work that way, but maybe, for a child, the thought could be a comfort. For every horrible person one encountered, there was someone that good waiting to meet you. Akira's whole demeanor softened, his body relaxing as he closed his eyes and, slowly, opened them again. The fear subsided somewhere in his stomach. He always found himself overthinking every word that came from Akechi Goro's mouth. It was exhausting in the way that roller coasters were-- fast, exhilarating, everything you could possibly want in that moment-- only to feel tired and possibly a little sick afterward. It made for a nice and very distinct memory, but it wasn't something you did every day; you could only handle such experiences in two-minute doses. Akira shared none of his thoughts. Maybe Akechi could read them painted across his face, or maybe Akechi wasn't here for that today.

Instead of attempting a new game of Twenty Questions with the detective prince, Akira finally said, “Elijah wouldn’t be able to do anything, though. He was put in an institution.”

“He was a genius criminal." Akechi had clearly already thought this through long before the conversation they were having now in Leblanc. It made Akira wonder how he was able to actually forget the ending of the film in the first place. "I’d say it’s understood that he got out to cause David trouble again. Don’t the criminals always escape after they’re caught?" Akira shrugged before Akechi went on, "That’s what continues to motivate the hero. Otherwise, the hero, David, has no one that matches his strength or no one that challenges him." Akechi leaned back, his full face visible and now donning a genuine smile, "Basically, no more comic books are made." He gesticulated with gloved hands while providing evidence, his eyes sparkling like polished stones, "Batman and Joker are the perfect example of this.”

“Wow,” Akira replied lamely, his breath stolen away by the full recovery Akechi Goro had made, “Welcome back, Akechi-kun.”

The third year shrunk back inside himself. “I’m sorry for earlier." He looked like he meant it.

“Don’t apologize,” Akira said too quickly, standing up straight with the coffee in his hand.

Akechi waved his right hand dismissively while gripping the handle of his coffee mug in his left, “I really shouldn’t have come in here with such a disposition. I must have worried you.”

“You do.” Akira made no mistake in his choice of words.

Akechi caught it, his smile returning like a blossom on his face. He didn't believe it, that Kurusu worried over him, but it was almost a nice thought if not for the fact that it was built around a mountain of lies for a traitor that really only existed as a scab on the rotten carcass of a well-diseased populace. “Because you’re too kind,” he replied, his smile not disappearing despite the dark places his thoughts had wandered off to. Well, at times, self-depreciation could be pleasurable, too.

“I’m not sure I’d go that far.”

And, with that, silence took the space between them. Akira left Akechi to his coffee as he put the tools away. That's when he noticed the pot still silent on the stove. He had never put away the curry. He walked over, curious as he opened the pot, and smiled at the contents. He opened the rice cooker that worked practically around the clock. There was no harm in an additional act of kindness.

Akira drank in the memory of Akechi smiling openly just minutes before. He wanted to make it happen again. He wanted to see it a hundred more times.

At least.

A few minutes later, music was playing again, an oshibori had been set in front of Akechi along with a spoon and a napkin, and finally, Akira slid a plate of Leblanc curry in front of him.

Akechi blinked, watching the steam rise from the plate. “I didn’t order this.”

“It’s on the house today,” Akira smiled into the cup of coffee he'd been drinking.

“I couldn’t possib--” His stomach growled.

It was almost too perfect, and Akira gave a smug expression to demonstrate this, “Eat up, detective prince.”

Akechi conceded. He was hungry after-all, and his argument to the contrary had been shattered by the betrayal of his own stomach. After wiping his hands, he picked up the spoon, shoveled it into the dark brown mixture, pulled it out slowly to end up with really only a small bit, and then finally brought the spoon to his mouth.

“It’s good,” he voiced quietly.

“Wait. You’ve been coming here over a month, and you’ve never had Leblanc curry?” It was shocking because it was the only food they had on the menu which was really just somewhere between bizarre and pathetic, and Akechi had come near dinner time almost every day. Was he eating after he left?

“There is a first time for everything,” Akechi offered a very poor defense.

“I’m glad you like it," Akira replied.

“Thank you for the meal . . . and your hospitality,” Akechi scooped up a carrot but didn't bring it to his mouth.

Without thinking, because Akira was a master at acting first and facing the consequences later, he said next, in a tone of voice far more serious than he'd meant to, “Don’t say it like you don’t deserve it.”

Silence. The music hummed on in the background. Akechi continued eating. Akira cleaned the dishes save for their two mugs and the curry plate. It was two minutes to closing when Akechi put down his spoon and gently pushed the plate in Akira's direction.

"Thank you for the meal," he said politely after finishing his coffee.

Akira picked up the plate. “Thank you for the company." He took their mugs and the remaining dishes and set them to soak, wiping his hands afterward with a dishrag. He'd removed his apron and hung it up before he'd walked back over to his last and favorite customer, "Also, another reason it was a bad ending.”

Akechi reached over and placed a few coins in the small metallic tray that had been left by the register as if insisting he'd pay for the coffee before Akira could claim that as being free as well. "What's that?" he asked as he settled back in his chair.

“Elijah, in the end, made David happy, too, by showing him his life’s purpose. David had gone to the gallery ready to begin their friendship. He was smiling, even.”

Akechi wasn’t sure where this was going, so he waited for Kurusu to explain further.

“They could have been friends.”

' _Their purpose was to oppose one another. How could that make them friends?_ ' is what Akechi was thinking, but he couldn’t get the words out. He couldn’t say them. If he had, he would have ended the small argument in a victory. His own argument was sound; Akira’s was being made without that critical piece of evidence to contradict it. So why-- why couldn’t he say it?

He enjoyed winning. He enjoyed being right.

Somehow, he’d come face to face with a battle that he didn’t want to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, just a head's up, I'll only include Loki when Akechi's mind is in a considerably bad place which is why he hasn't shown up yet. Also, I wouldn't necessarily interpret him as being Loki all the time, either; it could just be Akechi making up an excuse to be awful to himself. Idk. You decide.  
> Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos so far! I deeply appreciate it!  
> Also, other characters will start showing up soon, so I apologize; it won't be akeshu convos EVERY CHAPTER. : p


	5. 10/06

Out of the other thieves, save for Futaba, it was Yusuke that frequented Leblanc the most. With _Sayuri_ hanging patiently on the back wall as a reminder of what he had overcome, Yusuke often visited to regain strength, focus, and . . . sustenance. Akira had explained Yusuke’s situation to Sojiro back when he’d stayed the night. He’d also explained his habit of buying art supplies in lieu of food without so much as a second thought. Since then, Sojiro usually found reasons to hand out free coffee among other things depending on what he had in the fridge.

After Yusuke had texted asking for assistance, Akira was ready to meet him by the underground entrance to Shibuya 109 Men’s. Instead, Yusuke had said he was on his way to Leblanc. It had given Sojiro just enough time to finish making espresso. Right as the artist walked into Leblanc and sat down at the booth by the door, Akira was rounding the corner of the counter to set down the drink on the table. He wasn’t wearing his apron as he technically wasn’t helping out today, so after sliding it in front of Yusuke and taking a seat himself, he smiled and asked, "So, as an acting ' _ray of hope_ ', what can I do to help today?"

Yusuke returned the smile, gentle and warm. The day of the competition, he’d thanked Akira maybe twenty times for coming and supporting him. "Coffee?" he looked at the drink in front of him as if receiving something he hadn’t ordered was an entirely new experience for him at Leblanc.

"Cortado, actually,” was all Akira could get out before Morgana leapt up onto the table, crossed it quickly, and sat on the built in shelf on the wall beside one of the plants.

“Hello, Yusuke.”

“Good afternoon, Morgana.”

There weren’t any other customers yet which was probably why Sojiro hadn’t said anything about Morgana. He usually had Morgana sit in a chair like a person would, much to Morgana’s pleasure, but it was still a little early for any customers to arrive for dinner, so Morgana was safe perched on the shelf at least until then. Akira continued after they exchanged greetings, “We're experimenting, so it's on the house. Sojiro will want to know how it tastes later."

"I see," Yusuke, with the refined movements of a dancer, brought the cup to his lips and took a sip, closing his eyes to feel the flavor on his tongue and the warmth in his mouth. After a moment, he opened his eyes and set the cup back down in its saucer. "What's in it?"

"Espresso and milk. It’s not on the menu, but someone asked for one last week, so we’ve been practicing." ‘ _We_ ’ was clearly understood to mean himself and Sojiro.

"Thank you." He leaned forward slightly to rest his elbows on the table, his expression suddenly serious. "I find myself concerned with your well-being as of late."

Akira’s eyes widened slightly and he sat up a little straighter. To be on the receiving end of such piercing sincerity had never swayed Akira away from meeting Yusuke’s sapphire eyes, but he could understand how they could appear fierce and intimidating to others. "What? Why?" He hadn’t expected the topic of conversation today to be himself. Truth-be-told, he didn’t usually care for that topic; it wasn’t that he didn’t like talking about himself so much as he’d rather listen or hear the concerns of others. He silently reflected, his gray eyes still captured by blue. He wasn’t particularly troubled by anything at the moment. Maybe he was worried for Haru; he was still trying to get to know her and while she did show strength as Noir, she appeared rather unsure of herself outside of the Metaverse. There were also a few of his confidants he was worried over, but he could only take things one step at a time for them, and he wasn’t any more concerned than he’d been before, either.

Morgana said nothing, appearing equally curious as to what lead to such concern on Yusuke’s part. If Yusuke of all people had noticed something, then what of the others?

Yusuke took notice of Akira’s silence and went on to explain, "There have been a few nights in which you haven't responded in the group chat. Makoto noticed it first and myself, Ann, and Ryuji agreed. I was already planning on visiting today, so--"

Akira was quiet. He honestly hadn’t noticed, and perhaps that was the bigger issue here.

"It's concerning because that did not fall in line with your prior conduct," the artist finished, finally looking away to shift his gaze briefly to Morgana before looking back to Akira and picking up his drink once more.

Where had he been spending most of his time recently? If he wasn’t in the Metaverse, he was usually with one of his teammates or with his confidants or with-- "I guess I've been helping out more at Leblanc."

Morgana answered more honestly for him, "He was with his _friend_ , Akechi-kun."

Akira hid a wince by letting his head drop forward a moment in defeat. He wondered what the emphasis on ‘ _friend_ ’ sounded like in ‘ _nyas_ ’ and if Sojiro had heard it.

"Why do I feel as though I’ve heard that name before?" Yusuke stared thoughtfully into the foam of his drink as if the secret were hidden there.

Morgana sneezed, shaking his head suddenly before pawing at his own face, “He’s on TV all of the time denouncing the thieves." There was no sign of recognition from the artist, so Morgana tried again, pawing at the air, "The amateur detective?" Yusuke remained silent. "He called you _Madarame’s pupil_?" Nothing. "We’ve met him at Shibuya station before? When Medjed started making threats.”

And, there it was. Yusuke took on that same innocent surprise, one of his signature expressions, and he responded with a question, “Ah, he’s quite captivating?”

“That’s the one,” Akira finally spoke up, smiling at Yusuke’s characterization of Akechi.

_Captivating._

That was one way of putting it. It would have just sounded polite coming from anyone else.

Morgana shook his head from side to side, which looked a bit strange on a cat, “Ugh, more like nauseating.”

Yusuke redirected his attention to Akira, “He frequents Leblanc?”

Before Akira could speak, Morgana spoke for him, "He overstays his welcome is what he does." It sounded too harsh in Akira’s opinion. "He's suspicious." Or, maybe it was only a healthy amount of skepticism. Morgana's concern was something that kept the thieves safe. It was entirely possible that Akira was being too careless when it came to Akechi.

"Of you, Akira-kun?" Yusuke didn’t appear nearly so concerned, but Yusuke was someone who managed to move through life always attempting to see the good in others first.

Akira shrugged. "I don't know. Probably." He needed to be more careful. He could feel the warning in Morgana’s glare. He agreed. He knew it was true. He wouldn’t argue it.

But, he didn’t want to be scrupulous around Akechi all of the time. He just wanted to enjoy him, or, his presence rather. He realized he wasn’t making any sense in his own mind, so it was best not to voice any of his opinions regarding Akechi to the others.

"Is it wise?" Yusuke finally asked after a sip of his drink once more.

Akira lamely shrugged again, " _Keep your enemies close_?"

"I see." Yusuke set his drink back down, his expression visibly relaxed-- serene, even.

Relief flooded through Akira. If it had been anyone else, he was sure that would not have been the end of the conversation. Bless Yusuke.

"In that case, may I have his photo?"

"What?" Had he heard that correctly? He sat up straight once more.

The other's long, lanky arms were bent at the elbows and resting on the table. No matter what environment it was, Yusuke always looked like he belonged there somehow. "His photo. Could you take a photo of him for me next you see him?"

The question of ‘ _why_ ' waited there in Kurusu's eyes, but he had a feeling he knew the answer.

Yusuke went on, "For reference material. There is something in his countenance I cannot seem to place, a mystery of the human condition just beneath the surface of his character. I’d like to paint him one day, or at least practice some sketches. I imagine he’d be quite beautiful in charcoal.”

Akira smiled. "Yeah, I'll see what I can do."

"Speak of the devil." Morgana dropped down into the booth seat next to Akira as the door to Leblanc opened.

“Kurusu-kun? Kitagawa-san? Good afternoon.” It was true. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, pleasant, radiant, sparkling, and _captivating_.

Akira smiled and nodded in greeting, grinning more at the fact that Akechi had shown up in that specific moment than anything else.

“Akechi-kun, hello," Yusuke replied politely. There was no sign that only moments ago, Yusuke could not even recall his name.

“There you are.” Sojiro had clearly been expecting him, and, like clockwork, he had appeared just as he did. Sojiro came out from behind the bar counter with another cup and saucer in his hand.

“Sakura-san?” Akechi appeared puzzled a moment, his eyes blinking in surprise that Sojiro already had something prepared for him.

“Here,” he set the cup and saucer on the table on the side that Yusuke was sitting. “I know it’s not what you usually order, but it’s on the house. Consider it a favor. I need an opinion.”

“Master, it’s quite rich,” Yusuke offered, “Like the marbled fat of wagyu beef, cooked rare."

Sojiro looked at him quizzically, so Yusuke went on, "Or umami flavored pork belly."

"Kid--" Sojiro wasn’t getting anything out of this.

"Perhaps it can best to be described as a flavor reminiscent of marinated truffles served with scallop sashimi."

"Those are just foods you want to eat right now!" Morgana corrected him.

Akechi chuckled cordially from where he stood, hovering between the option of politely joining them or making some excuse to fix himself to his normal spot.

“Right . . . that’s the espresso,” Sojiro decided, confused but ever patient and accepting. His heart went out to Yusuke, that much was certain. In a way, Akira was sure his heart went out to all of them; it was certainly big enough for each of them to fit.

Akechi finally sat down next to Yusuke, his typical smile on his face as he looked down at the contents of the cup that had been prepared for him. “What is it?”

Sojiro's hand went behind his head to scratch at what remained of fading black hair, “A cortado. Basically, it's just espresso and cream. It’s all about proportion. I made yours a little differently from his--less bitter.”

Akechi winked, smiling still, and it reminded Akira briefly of the real wink he'd seen that had just a touch of mischief and a taste of sex appeal. This was not that one, but it served as a reminder that it existed somewhere. “You know my preference, Sakura-san. Thank you.” He took a sip holding the cup with a gloved hand and set it back down on the saucer.

“That’s what happens when you’re here nearly every single day,” Morgana quipped.

Akira would have said that was an exaggeration, but he couldn’t respond to Morgana. His eyes were glued to Akechi anyway, waiting to see if he’d respond to Morgana with any amount of shock, surprise, anything. He didn’t so much as blink.

“May I try yours, Kitagawa-san?” Akechi smiled at the artist and Yusuke pushed the cup and saucer over.

“Of course.” He understood what Akechi was trying to accomplish because he went to reach for the cup and saucer Akechi had already sipped from.

They switched coffees and each of them took a drink of the other's cortado. It was an indirect kiss, but neither of them seemed to notice or care. Akira did because apparently, he was too immature to sit at the big kid’s table. It shouldn’t have mattered but watching them, he couldn't help but wonder what it tasted like, too. The drink. Or, something else. They switched back.

“I’m not sure what a cortado is supposed to taste like, but I think Kitagawa-san’s is more distinct in flavor. The espresso is quite strong," Akechi offered much more helpful feedback for Sojiro.

Yusuke agreed, “I do prefer mine, yes.”

“Good to know,” Sojiro turned around just in time for two groups of customers to walk in. He would be busy for some time.

Akechi smiled brilliantly at them with all the warmth of a headlight, “Sorry, did I interrupt something?” He didn't appear sorry at all, but Akira didn't mind. Sojiro had sort of set them up to all sit together. They never had before. He would have considered the reason behind it if Akechi hadn't asked next, "Is your cat in the booth beside you?"

Morgana stood up on all fours and he could see just over the table ledge, "Of course I'm here. Don't think you can fool me."

“Yes, he is,” Akira remembered to answer.

Akechi kept his smile in place. "He's quite talkative today."

Yusuke looked beside him at the amateur detective, "You can hear him?"

Akechi put on his surprised expression as though he were innocent to what Yusuke was actually asking, "Hmm? Should I not be able to?” The brunette looked back at the cat with a pleasant lilt in his voice, “Nya Nya to you, too~"

Akira immediately covered his mouth with his hand. He couldn't speak; he'd just burst out laughing.

Morgana just stared in a rare moment of having no appropriate response to what was happening.

Akira finally slipped through his teeth "His name is Morgana."

Akechi directed his sweet smile towards Akira, "Right. I think you've told me before, Kurusu-kun, my apologies."

"Nya Nya, Morgana!" he grinned down at the cat.

Morgana hissed, and Akira couldn't hold it in any longer, a few puffs of air escaping his nostrils in his poorly suppressed laughter.

"Are you laughing at me, Kurusu-kun?" Akechi looked nearly hurt, and it took several seconds before Akira realized he was genuinely feigning his hurt out of an attempt to be playful.

"Morgana understands Japanese," he said finally.

Akechi latched on immediately, "Oh? Does he know tricks?"

"Yes."

"What are you going on about?" Morgana snapped.

"He can play fetch," Akira explained with a completely neutral expression.

"Like a dog?" Yusuke looked surprised again as if forgetting for a moment that they were talking about their very human-like teammate that held the appearance of a cat rather than your typical everyday house cat.

"I'm not a dog!" Morgana screeched.

Akira was smiling. "He is a cat that can act much like a dog."

"I'm not a cat, either!"

"Hey, your cat's concerning the customers. Send it upstairs with some milk if it won't quiet down." Sojiro gave a warning from the other side of the bar.

"Got it." Akira crossed his arms and looked down at his friend with a smile, "Morgana, behave."

Morgana glared back at him with a promise for revenge. Akira almost felt guilty, but he was sure that whatever retribution was in store of him would make him dismiss the thought.

Akechi blinked, sounding impressed, "Wow, it stopped meowing. That's incredible. Are you good with animals?"

"Only this one."

"I'm not an animal," Morgana glared, speaking in what sounded like a whisper.

Akechi went silent when he noticed that he was caught inside the box Yusuke made with fingers when he was studying something he observed.

To Akira’s surprise, Akechi let a slew of emotions pass over his face in a second before his pleasant facade made its home, “Were the two of you discussing art?”

Honest to a fault whether out of sheer ignorance or complete trust, Yusuke began, “We were discussing you, actually, and--”

Akira interrupted, “Why you aren’t on TV as often lately.”

Akechi blinked, taking a short moment to decide whether or not Akira was being honest. He either decided he was or that it didn’t matter either way, because he addressed the concern from there, “Well, the election is coming up, so many of the stations are covering that instead, and I’ve been busy with . . . other matters.”

“Like spying on Akira,” Morgana offered.

Without missing a beat, Akechi turned a bit to address Yusuke beside him, “I went to the Amateur Artists Competition for Tokyo Design Week. It was your piece that won, wasn’t it?”

The three thieves were stunned to silence.

“You were there?" Yusuke asked slowly.

"Yes, oh, please don't misunderstand.” He didn’t voice what there was to misunderstand from his attendance there. “I was merely curious; such things also make good topics of conversation."

Akira wondered if that was a governing force in nearly everything Akechi did.

"You witnessed my victory?" None of the others had even seen it--only Akira. He imagined his friends were all rather busy, but he had invited them. Yusuke didn’t want to think negatively of the fact that they hadn’t come, so he’d redirected that energy into being grateful that Akira had. While it was true that Akechi was only an acquaintance, he did feel supported in a way. It was better, even, because it meant the other artists and their art was supported as well.

"’ _Hope and Despair_ ’? Yes, it was quite profound."

Akira could see that Akechi was lying through his teeth; he didn't appreciate his friend being lied to, but he wasn't sure how Yusuke would take whatever likely criticism Goro would come up with anyway.

"What is it? There's more you wish to say?" Yusuke’s eyes were searching the brown hues directed at him, no hint of shyness as he sought the truth behind them.

Akechi was silent, trapped in that same gaze Akira had found himself in earlier. He looked away; he’d been intimidated. Something about that sent a warmth through his chest; Yusuke was quite formidable and he wasn’t even trying to be. It was clear to Akira that he was searching his brain for _Plan B_. "Design Festa,” he said finally, “You should participate. That is, if you haven't signed up already."

"Design Festa?" Yusuke questioned, relaxing back in the booth while keeping his attention on Akechi.

"It's an event-- both a gallery and marketplace for artists. They have pretty much anything you can think of, and during the event, artists are performing or crafting or making art within the venue. It would be good exposure for you." Akechi visibly relaxed. He'd changed the conversation while still keeping it on Yusuke. He no longer had to provide insight as to why he'd found his painting 'profound'.

"I do recall the name, but I've never attended," Yusuke related, intrigued.

"It's rather impressive," Akechi responded vaguely.

Yusuke leaned closer to him, and if it bothered Akechi, he didn't show it, "You've been?"

"He's totally never been," Morgana remarked dismissively.

There.

Akira had seen it.

Akechi had looked at Morgana.

After a beat, Akechi said smoothly, as if he had never been trying to hide it in the first place, "No, actually, I haven't. I've seen photos. It's rather impressive."

"He said that twice." Morgana pointed out.

Akira finally spoke up, "We should go. When is it?"

Akechi, with a ridiculous amount of information about an event he'd never attended, answered evenly, "The second weekend in November. I don't think I'll--"

"You have plenty of time to plan for it," Akira cut him off. He knew that if he hadn't, Akechi was just going to make some kind of excuse that would keep him from going. It would be nice to spend time with him outside of Leblanc. Akira remembered this wasn't an entirely selfish action, "What do you think, Yusuke?"

"It has sparked my curiosity. I would prefer to visit first before committing to a space. I'm not sure I could afford it, anyway. Perhaps if I limited myself only to the hundred-yen Lawsons for groceries . . . " Yusuke took a sip of his drink.

Without any attempt to portray a singular emotion, Akechi looked at Akira with a blank expression, "I didn't know you possessed a love for art, Kurusu-kun."

He didn't really, but he did possess a love for his friends. Also, it was an opportunity to bring them all together. He'd invite the others, too. If it was what Goro was describing and how he was imagining it, then Yusuke was sure to enjoy it.

"I enjoy supporting my friends," he responded honestly to the unspoken challenge in Akechi's tone.

"That painting. It looks a lot like _Sayuri_ ," Akechi wasn't even looking at it, however, his eyes on Akira. Akira said nothing, knowing Yusuke would jump at the chance to discuss it.

"It is the true _Sayuri_ ," Yusuke admitted openly as if it were a child's drawing on a refrigerator rather than an internationally known work of art.

"What?"

"My mother painted it," Yusuke responded with so much sincerity that no one could dare question the truth to the statement.

"You're the child," Goro said aloud, his expression shifting slightly as if he hadn't meant to.

Yusuke nodded, "Yes. I brought it here to Leblanc so that others could witness the love of a mother."

Goro turned to look at Yusuke, _really_ look at him, and Akira felt entranced. Was it how Akechi looked at him? Surprised? Thoughtful? A touch vulnerable? A bit lonely?

Akira could recall what Akechi had said of his mother. He wondered what he really thought of the _Sayuri_. He wondered what he was thinking now as he looked at Yusuke, searching his eyes for something that he was desperate to know but didn't have the capacity to grasp. He wondered how long it would take for him to gain Akechi's trust so that if he'd ask, he'd answer honestly.

Without asking, Yusuke pulled up his phone and took a picture, the mechanical recorded sound of a snapshot breaking their silence.

"What was that for?" Akechi didn't look pleasant.

"I wanted your photo," Yusuke looked at his work on his phone, missing entirely how upset Akechi was.

"Usually people ask for such things," Akechi frowned.

"If you were prepared, it wouldn't have been the right expression. You rarely display your true beauty."

"E-excuse me?!" Akechi didn't yell, but his voice had gone louder, flustered by Yusuke's casual comments.

Akira felt grateful he was here to witness their first real conversation. As soon as Akechi got used to Yusuke's eccentric behavior, he would no longer be so unprepared for it.

"Is that what you want to call it, Yusuke?" Morgana snickered.

Clearly talking to the cat, Yusuke replied, "Of course."

Akira didn't bother giving Yusuke a look to communicate that they weren't supposed to be hearing Morgana. He was certain the secret concerning Morgana's uniqueness had been spoiled some time ago with talk of pancakes.

"Excuse me." Akechi recovered finally, "That's quite the compliment coming from you."  He added, "Thank you."

"Thank you," Yusuke repeated back, holding up the phone to show Akechi the photo he'd taken of him.

Akechi didn't say anything.

"Send it to me?" Akira requested.

"Of course," Yusuke began tapping at his phone and Akira pulled his out.

"What, why?" Akechi asked, doing his best to keep his face clean and innocent.

"So that it pops up when you call," Akira replied easily, at the ready for wherever this was going.

"I don't call you."

Akira was unfazed, "That's only because you don't have my number yet. It's 0714677877."

If Akechi didn't put it in, he'd look like a complete asshole in front of Kitagawa. That was the plan. He left Akechi with no choice if he was going to remain as pleasant as he pretended to be. "One moment." The detective prince pulled out his phone and tapped away at the screen, always grateful he'd spent the extra money on gloves that worked with touch screens. "Say it again?"

Akira repeated his number and Akechi typed it in. He texted Akira a message: This is Akechi Goro. Akira smiled at how simple it was, saved the number, and added the photo to it the contact, smiling at his phone.

He heard the sound of a photo being taken and looked up.

"Now we're even."

To his surprise, Akechi hadn't taken his photo, but he had taken Yusuke's.

Yusuke was entirely unfazed as if he'd been expecting it to happen all along, "Oh, my phone number is 0945039597."

Akechi continued tapping at his phone before looking up. "Next time you see an opportunity, take one of Kurusu-kun for me?" Akechi asked of the artist.

"Oh yes, most certainly. He's at his most stunning during battle."

"Battle?"

"You can't let your guard down around this guy!" Morgana pawed at the air.

"Yes, a battle of wits," Yusuke corrected. Akira's fondness for Yusuke only improved.

"I'd like to see that," Akechi smiled at Yusuke, a genuine one, and it pulled at the skin of his lips practically against his will. He couldn't seem to help himself, and Akira couldn't look away.

"Next I witness it, I'll be sure to take a photo for you."

"I look forward to it, Kitagawa-san."

They returned to drinking their cortados and made small conversation into the evening.

  
  


After Akechi and Yusuke left, and after he had gotten ready for bed, Akira decided to drop into the group chat.

 **Akira:** Hey, would all of you be interested in going to Design Festa the second weekend in November?

 **Ann:** Ohhhh, I've been there! I did a show once!

 **Ryuji:** What is it?

 **Yusuke:** An event in which artists come together to share in their artistry.

 **Ryuji:** That told me literally nothing.

 **Ann:** It's held at Tokyo Big Site in Odaiba. It's super cool.

 **Makoto:** Why were you wanting to go?

 **Futaba:** It's a transformer. I'm staring at a transformer. WILL TOKYO BIG SITE SAVE THE WORLD?!

 **Yusuke:** The venue transforms?

 **Akira:** I thought it would be fun.

 **Yusuke:** That's fascinating.

 **Makoto:** Yusuke, it does not.

 **Futaba:** There is a saw out front. SAW THROUGH THE WORLD'S SHELL!

 **Ryuji:** What the hell? So, it's a festival? Will there be food?

 **Yusuke:** That's destructive.

 **Akira:** Yes.

 **Akira:** And art.

 **Ann:** I'm totally on board. Yusuke, you want to go, right? Are you going to be part of the exhibition?

 **Yusuke:** I'd like to witness it first.

 **Makoto:** That's the weekend before finals.

 **Akira:** I'll be going with Yusuke. If you all want to come, you're welcome to.

 **Ann:** I'm in! I'm in!

 **Futaba:** Will it be crowded?

 **Akira:** It will be part of your training.

 **Futaba:** Okay! BIG SITE BOT, READY FOR BATTLE!!

 **Ryuji:** Sounds cool. I'm in.

 **Makoto:** . . . Well, if everyone else is going then . . .

 **Haru:** I apologize for missing the messages. I-

 **Akira:** You should come, too, Haru. I know it's a few weeks away, but I think you would enjoy it.

 **Haru:** I'll come, too.

 **Akira:** Good, it's settled. I'll buy the tickets for everyone.

 **Yusuke:** This will be quite the event.

 

Akira closed his phone. He didn’t know why he’d left out that Akechi was coming too. No, maybe he did.

Morgana stretched out on his bed with a yawn, “Did you make plans with everyone?”

“Yes.”

“You look pleased.” Akira tossed his phone into his sheets; he’d been smiling at the group chat.

“It’s nice to have something to look forward to.”

“And Akechi is coming?” the cat opened a single eye, but only for a second.

“Yeah, he said he would.” Akira tried to sound like he didn’t care either way. He was pretty convincing even to Morgana who had witnessed enough to know better.

“I trust you, Akira, but be careful.” Morgana closed both of his eyes, looking like he was ready to sleep.

“Thanks. I will.” Akira was glad for the topic of conversation to change, “And . . . I’m ready to receive whatever punishment you see fit for earlier.”

Without opening his eyes, Morgana responded lightly, “You’re going to brush me every day this week.”

“For a human, you really enjoy it when I brush you,” Akira teased.

“Shut up. It feels good,” Morgana yawned again, “You aren’t covered in fur; you wouldn’t understand.”

Akira smiled fondly, “Let me go get the brush.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really nervous writing other characters. ToT Concrit welcome and appreciated! Thank you for your patience with my writing; I'm without practice.


	6. 10/11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta. I'll come back to fix mistakes. T//T

The entirety of Disneyland. Empty. This was by far the most extravagant celebration the thieves had participated in as of yet, but the glamor was overshadowed, literally in some circumstances, with how eerie the park had become after closing early to accommodate the Okumura reservation. Akira couldn’t help but feel anxious that they were the only ones there at seven on a Tuesday night. He’d never been to Disneyland so seeing the gaudy buildings cast in shadow, the fantastic decor left unobserved, and the excessive amount of empty space was all just a bit unnerving for him. Did that many people choose to wait in lines just to ride these attractions? He didn’t fault them for it, but it seemed like too much of a hassle for only a handful of seconds on a roller coaster. They were there to have dinner and watch the press conference, but being the only guests in the park made the atmosphere incredibly ominous. From the laughter and smiles of his friends, however, he appeared to be the only one bothered by it, so he kept his impressions silent.

Haru’s logic had sounded so reasonable earlier that day on the rooftop of Shujin Academy, or, at least, as reasonable as renting out the entirety of Disneyland for an evening could, but the difference between five and over a hundred employees really couldn’t be compared, never mind comparing only the eight of them to the tens of thousands of guests who would have been at Disneyland were it not booked out at all.

The offer, to begin with, had been kind of strange. Was it that Haru was that far removed from understanding her position of wealth or was it something else? She was clearly well-meaning, but such kindness couldn’t be overlooked.

_‘Everyone acts with the intention to gain something for themselves.’_

Akechi’s words echoed in the back of Akira’s mind and he visibly shook his head at the thought that Haru’s kindness had been entirely out of efforts to persuade them all to like her. Maybe he had spent too much time with Akechi; he was making him cynical. Now, there was a thought.

Haru guided them to a restaurant that was on a cobblestone street a stone’s throw away from Cinderella’s Castle. “We’ll be eating dinner just outside the castle there. It’s already been ordered and prepared, so I hope all of you like it.” Her voice was gentle and warm, the nervous ring that shook at the ends of her sentences signaling that she was once again feeling apprehensive; it never rang like that in the Metaverse.

They all sat down around a large, circular table with Morgana even getting his own chair, and, within minutes, the food had arrived and they’d started eating. Yusuke took photos of the food first, mentioning how food itself was art, or, at least, could be.

After a few minutes, Akira’s thoughts began to drift away. He wondered if Akechi was at Leblanc. It was a Tuesday in October. No, this press conference was too important. He was probably at the station watching it with Makoto’s sister or some of the officers or . . . whoever he hung out with there if anyone. Probably no one. For all the people that Akechi tried to surround himself with, he was probably alone most of the time. Did he like it that way? Probably not? What were his motivations behind all of his TV appearances and magazine spreads? He could easily be a detective without being an idol. He must have found some kind of fulfillment in it. But, he never seemed that happy on TV, or rather, he was smiling, but it was never the genuine one  that Akira had seen back in Leblanc. Was someone forcing him to do it? Was he forcing himself?

The recorded sound of a photo being taken snapped him out of his thoughts. The phone companies of Japan had agreed, in an effort to stop a very particular crime, to not allow the sound assigned to go off when taking a photo to be silenced despite any other settings. It meant that no one could take a photo on their phone without being heard. In this case, it meant that Yusuke couldn’t get away with secretly taking a candid shot of Akira himself.

He looked up from his food to the artist diagonal from him on the other side of Morgana. Ann leaned over immediately, having noticed the sound as well.

“You taking photos of the food?”

Yusuke handed her the phone and she began to swipe through them, “Oh, you’re so good at framing things, Yusuke-kun.”

“That’s to be expected,” Morgana said in front of his plate of tuna tataki.

“Thank you,” Yusuke nodded as an agreement with Morgana. As an artist, he should be able to frame things appropriately to capture the beauty of the subject. It didn’t make him a good photographer, as he was not knowledgeable on how to use cameras or develop film, but it made him an adept armature.

Ann made it to the last photo and her face lit up, “You have one of Akira-kun? Eh, it’s really good!” She showed Haru immediately, who had now stood up, and then faced the phone away from her to show the others as well.

Akira tried not to think anything of it, but when he saw the distant look in his eyes, he realized that, to others, this was what he looked like when thinking of Akechi. His head was tilted down slightly, but not enough to cast shadow on his face from the streetlights of the park. His messy hair framed his face naturally and his half lidded eyes made him appear gentle and fond, like a person with the knowledge that everything would work out or even the understanding of how things would naturally resolve. He looked completely at peace, which wasn’t what he’d expected to see. Thoughts of Akechi didn’t exactly calm him down.

When Ann was done showing off the photo, she handed it back to Yusuke who only tapped away at the screen with a nod. “Yes, I am sending it to Akechi-kun.”

Akira succeeded in not reacting in any way, and his slight inner panic remained a secret to his friends.

“Huh? What? Akechi-kun?” Ann physically turned in her chair in curiosity. She hadn’t seen that coming; that guy was pretty much their enemy.

“Akechi Goro?” Makoto clarified, equally surprised but not nearly as animated as Ann had been.

Yusuke set down his phone to finally begin eating, but he had yet to bring the fork to his mouth just yet. “Yes. He asked me to send him photos of Akira-kun.” Coming from Yusuke, it sounded perfectly normal.

“That was a joke, Yusuke-kun,” Akira said with a small smile but no emotion attached to his voice. He couldn’t quite place who he was actually trying to convince.

Yusuke had nearly made it to his first bite of food before he set the fork back down yet again. “It didn’t sound like a joke. Also, he has extended his gratitude each time.”

Akira shifted in his chair, “You’ve sent him more than one photo?” No, he couldn’t show that he cared. It didn’t matter anyway. They were only photos and- "He was probably being polite," Akira offered while rubbing hair between his fingers. Why did it matter either way?

“Should I not have?” Yusuke asked, concerned.

Ryuji picked up on that, his eyes narrowing as he looked between the two of them suspiciously, “What’s going on?”

Akira explained, with very few details, what had happened a few days before at Leblanc. Coming out of his mouth, he realized it didn’t really help his case that it was the harmless exchange of profile pics and not something more.

Ann caught on immediately and jumped instantly to the conclusion Akira was hoping would not be reached, “Oh my god, he’s flirting!”

Ryuji rolled his eyes, “Not every guy is gay, Ann.”

Ann snapped, nearly standing to lean over the table towards Ryuji, “People can be things other than gay and straight, Ryuji.”

Ryuji waved her off, embarrassed by the topic and not quite her actual words, “Right, okay, I’m just saying--”

Makoto changed the subject, clearly seeing this from a different, more sensible angle, “I didn’t realize he went to Leblanc so often.”

“It’s not that often,” Akira voiced without thinking. He pressed his lips together. Was he making excuses? Was he defending him? Shouldn’t he be as suspicious as Makoto was? Wasn’t he as suspicious? Akechi was likely only there because he was spying on him. He didn’t want to believe that, but it had to be that. Otherwise, it would mean something Akria wasn’t quite prepared to explore. Of course, Akechi was beautiful, intelligent, and--but he was also working for the police. He was a detective on the trail of the Phantom Thieves, and if he ever found evidence against them, it would put their futures in very real danger, and, not that it would be the exact same experience, but Akira couldn’t allow for the other’s to gain a black spot similar to the one he’d incurred back in his hometown. It only took one mistake before society saw you as a delinquent--a criminal.

Oblivious to Akira’s internal conflict, Morgana wouldn’t let the others take Akira at his word. “He’s more often there than absent. Master can practically tell time by when he arrives or leaves."

Futaba, on this subject, sided quickly with Morgana, "Sojiro is pretty used to him now. He spends more time with him than with me."

"That's an exaggeration," Akira replied, knowing all too well that, in terms of minutes and hours, it was true.

"I mean, it's because I don't always eat dinner in Leblanc." Futaba replied matter-of-factly.

"Has he said anything about the Phantom Thieves?" Makoto asked curiously.

"A few times. He talked about how a calling card had been sent out for Okumura-san and how he was concerned. But, other than that, he doesn't talk about his work much." Akira maintained his neutral tone.

“It would be weird if he _never_ brought them up,” Makoto shared her thoughts aloud.

"But he talks to _you_ ," Ann emphasized ‘ _you_ ’ by pointing her clean fork in his direction. Ann was still operating on the idea that Akechi was flirting.

Akira shrugged and admitted to his food, "Yeah . . ."

"Oh, the fireworks are starting!" Morgana yelled, eyes in the sky.

Akira gave a sigh of relief as everyone’s eyes turned toward the castle and the sky.

Ann was the first to speak, "This is beyond amazing! Dining outside with fireworks for entertainment!"

Haru smiled genuinely, "I'm glad you like it."

"It really is incredible. We're the only ones here.” Makoto looked around the area again, her eyes scanning the park, “All of this is for us?"

"That's right," Haru really did appear like she was attempting to cater to them. She had eaten half of her food and had since then been standing. It didn’t make a lot of sense for her to be out of her seat, and it wasn’t necessary for her to play the host; there were employees there at the ready to assist them.

"You didn't have any other friends you wanted to bring?" The question was out of his mouth before Akira could take it back.

The party went silent as the fireworks continued to explode and clap behind them.

Haru stared at the ground.

Ann, ever quick on social cues, worked to recover the atmosphere,  "Yeah, I mean, I guess if it's the whole park, if you wanted to invite other people, it would have been fine!"

"It seems almost a waste for it to just be the eight of us," Makoto admitted shyly.

"Thank you for including me, Mako-chan," Morgana’s tone showed he was smiling in his words.

"Of course I'd include you."

Haru looked up at Akira after studying the way the stones in the ground didn’t quite fit together properly. "To answer your question, Akira-kun, you're right in thinking that I don't actually have any other friends." The courage in her words shook him into guilt.

He shouldn’t have said that, but that’s where his mouth got him sometimes. He could be careful when he needed to be, but more often than not, he was impulsive.

Haru went on, her eyes meeting the others around the table, "I have really enjoyed my time with all of you. I'm not quite sure how to act. What I mean is, I want to continue being friends with all of you."

Futaba seemed to understand, because she waved the confession off with her hand, "Well, you could just say so."

Akira nodded with a gentle and apologetic smile, "We want to be your friend, too, Haru-chan."

Ann caught on, finally, with what Akira, Makoto, and Futaba were addressing, "You didn't have to go through all of this trouble to-uh-"

Makoto chimed in, attempting to recover for Ann, "Even if we hadn't of come here, we already consider you as a member of the team."

Haru shook her head and put her hands up defensively with a small giggle, "Oh. Thank you. It really wasn't any trouble though. Honestly."

"You're not wearing a hat." Akira pointed out after watching the whole awkward exchange that he had essentially caused.

"Oh, you're right." Since Haru hadn’t been seated, it was easy for her to walk behind Ryuji and Akira and rummage through the box behind Ryuji. She produced something pointed and gold.

"Oh a crown!" Ann exclaimed, excited that the others would be wearing accessories, too.

"For Mako-chan?" Haru asked, her eyes warm and expectant on the student council president as she offered it forward.

"Me?" Makoto shouldn’t have been surprised by any means, but she still looked like she didn’t understand why she’d deserve such a position.

"The Queen!" Morgana chimed.

"Oh, alright." Makoto reached across the table and took the crown from Haru’s hands. Like the cat ears on Ann, the bear ears on Ryuji, and the top hat with the bunny ears on Futaba, it was a simple headband. When she put it on, the crown was set to sit slightly askew, but it glittered gold and tall on her head.

"I'll wear these." Haru produced large, round purple and pink ears and put the headband on herself.

"A bear?" Yusuke questioned, half of his plate now empty.

"A mouse," Haru corrected with a playful wink.

Futaba noticed the next item that Haru had pulled out of the box, “Gimme gimme!” Haru handed it to her, but something else had been attached to the chain, "Ouu, Inari, put on this monocle.” She handled the strange headband delicately, a bit confused, “Oh, it's attached to bunny ears. Whatever. Put it on." She held it across the table for Yusuke to take.

Yusuke reached over, without a word, and put on the white, pointed ears. For a moment, the monocle hung somewhere by his collar bone before Futaba gave him a look that prompted him to put the plastic lens over his eye.

"So regal," Futaba clapped her approval.

"A regal rabbit?" Yusuke blinked, one eye behind plastic. Futaba’s response was only to grin back at him.

"Is there anything for me?" Morgana stood and put his front paws on the table, trying to look over between Ryuji and Akira to Haru.

"There isn't much left.” Haru reached inside to the bottom, “Oh, this bow tie matches Ann's hair bow." Haru passed it over to Ann.

"Put it on! Put it on!" Morgana remained still and waited as Ann tied the bowtie around his neck.

"We match Ann-dono!"

"We sure do!" Ann laughed.

"Wait, now everyone is dressed for the occasion save for our leader," Yusuke observed.

"There's only one thing left." Haru pulled out a large double bow of white and blue.

Makoto recognized it, putting the other accessories together in her mind, "Oh, I get it. It was sort of an _Alice_ theme?"

Futaba took the bow from Haru and stood behind Akira, “Hold still.”

Akira did as he was told, expecting the obvious. If it told Makoto that it was an _Alice in Wonderland_ theme and everyone else was dressed as an animal, save for a queen, then it would obviously make him the Alice. "It's a bow, isn't it?" He felt the headband slide into his hair and watched Futaba resume her position on her chair.

"It's not fair. You look cute no matter what you're wearing," Ann gave a mock pout.

"Jealous?" Akira grinned mischievously, certain that he looked even more ridiculous with a giant headbow on top of his head.

"Akira!" Ann laughed back, sitting back in her chair with mirth in her eyes.

"You're the one in magazines. Not me." He reasoned.

Another photo was taken.

"For Akechi-kun." Yusuke put his phone back down on the table. "Though, he didn't respond to the one I sent earlier. Perhaps he is busy."

Akira studied his food.

Ann jumped at the chance to resume their previous conversation, "Send it to him anyway!"

Futaba giggled at Ann’s transparency, "Does someone have a new OTP?"

"We should take a group photo," Haru suggested. When Akira looked up, their eyes met briefly before she looked away to meet the eyes of the others. Had she--?

"Yeah!" Ryuji, really happy about the idea, stood up to move around the others. After situating everyone behind Morgana, Ann, and Yusuke, Haru brought one of the staff over to take a photo of all of them together first on Ann’s phone, then Haru’s, and then on the staff camera if they wanted one printed. Once it was over, they were all seated once more, even Haru. The fireworks show was somehow still going on; what it lacked in originality, it made up for in endurance.

"It's quite inspiring.” Yusuke stared at the lights in the sky. It was apparent that he hadn’t been to many fireworks shows.

" _Not as inspiring as you,”_ Futaba said, her voice several octaves lower. Everyone looked up and she smiled, her voice hers again, “Am I right? The atmosphere kind of gives off that couple's vibe."

"I'm touched that you find me inspiring," Yusuke responded, quite serious.

"Inari!” she threw a cherry tomato at him suddenly without warning, which he caught and then ate. “Ugh, fine." Futaba gave up before she could complain at how dense he was being.

Ann smiled, her presence rivaling the that of the lights in the night sky, "Right? I totally agree, though. Even cheesy lines like, ' _Let's commit the perfect crime. I'll steal your heart and you'll steal mine._ ' would work."

Makoto stopped with her fork halfway to her mouth to comment, "Wow, that one is pretty terrible."

Morgana turned to his left and began, "Ann-dono, are you a thief because you seem to have stolen my--"

"Wow, guys, really, we're at Disneyland. It's not that big a deal." Ryuji interrupted.

"Says the boy wearing the Duffy ears." Ann giggled.

Ryuji never took well to teasing, "I only put them on 'cause Futaba made me."

"It really didn't take a lot of persuading," Futaba argued.

Before Akira could tease both of them for arguing in such adorable ‘costumes’, Yusuke broke their bickering with a sentimental reflection, "Us coming together like this truly warms my heart."

"It's really nice." Akira agreed, sounding less eloquent than he'd meant to.

"It's too bad we couldn't see the parade. On night's that the park is rented out, everyone is free to go by six save for the people needed for the party and a few handlers. There's only seven of us, so that wasn't enough to have the parade." Haru explained, still watching the fireworks. She really did think about things a little differently considering how she was raised.

Makoto finished her meal and relaxed back in her chair, "This is plenty. I've actually only been here once."

"This is my second time," Ryuji said.

"Really?" Haru asked, clearly surprised. It gave away that she had been here a number of times.

"Yeah, I've been to Disneyland, but not DisneySea," the blonde admitted.

Ann’s curiosity got the best of her, "Show of hands. Who's been here before?"

Ryuji, Haru, Ann, Makoto, and Futaba raised their hands.

"Ehhh, really?" Ann tried again, "Show of hands? DisneySea?"

Haru, Ann and Makoto raised their hands.

Ann looked to both of the boys who hadn’t been to either, "Yusuke, Akira, you two have never been to either Disney?"

"I've never been to an amusement park," Yusuke replied.

"I'm not from Tokyo; it's a day's worth of train rides away from my home town," Akira reminded her.

"Onee-chan likes roller coasters. She gets season passes to Fuji-Q every year.” Makoto was smiling at the memory only to realize that it hadn’t happened this past year, “Or, at least, she used to."

"Let's go to Fuji-Q Highland next summer!" Ann, looking like summer herself, was already making plans for the eight of them. She clearly expected their friendship to last well beyond this school year despite whatever challenges their bonds would face.

Akira decided not to say anything, so Futaba took the opportunity to remind her, "He's,” she waved a thumb over in Akira’s direction, “-on probation. It only lasts a year. He won't be living with us next summer."

"Probation?” Haru crossed her hands in front of her and tried to keep her eyes solely trained on Futaba. She failed, because several times, they shifted back to Akira anyway, “Those rumors are true?"

Ryuji answered for Akira this time, "No, no, none of them are. He was wrongly accused. He was actually trying to help the lady; he'd obviously never do that shit. But yeah, so, they sent him on probation for a year; that's why he lives with Master."

Haru nodded. She appeared to have a much better understanding with Ryuji’s unfeigned explanation. Truly, Ryuji’s faith in Kurusu alone was convincing enough of Akira’s innocence.

"Oh, right." Everyone could see the gears working inside Ann’s head since she made no effort to hide her determination at making this work. Finally, she realized an alternative, "Let's go in December since we already have Design Festa planned for November. We should take a day off of school!"

"What? We can't do that!" Makoto, of course, would be opposed.

Ryuji nearly jumped out of his seat in excitement, "Let's do it! It's only a single day!” He looked to Makoto with a hundred-watt smile, “I mean, you can't tell me you've never played hooky before."

Makoto blushed.

"Hooky?" Yusuke questioned. He’d not heard the term before.

Ryuji rolled his eyes, still smiling, "It's when you don't go to school because you've found something better to do with your time." Contrary to popular belief at Shujin, he never skipped school. Junior High may have been a different story, however.

Yusuke nodded, completely serious, "Oh, I frequently play hooky then. I don't see what difference another day would make."

“Yusuke?" Makoto looked nervous.

"I'm painting."

Ann blinked, "Do they, like, allow that stuff there?"

"I'm sure they overlook it." Makoto tried to understand the system for herself; there was no way they just let students not attend classes without any repercussions.

"I always remain on campus. It may be a reason that they provide dorms? My teachers are often visiting me in one of the studios." Yusuke’s mind moved quickly. Some further explanation between each of those statements could have been helpful, but his friends were used to it by now to understand the general gist of what he was saying.

"That's really cool," Futaba nearly whined. Her tone switched to a pout and she put her chin in the palms of her hands, "I would like a school like that."

"You do realize you have to share your room with someone else when you live in a dorm?" Ryuji leaned over to look at Futaba who gave a startled noise.

"Nevermind."

Ann steered the team back on topic, "So, Fuji-Q Highland? Yes or yes?"

Makoto still didn’t appear convinced, "Let me think about it. We have a lot going on, so that may prove to be difficult."

"You're right." Akira knew she was only looking out for them, and he appreciated it; she showed how much she cared with how strict she could be.

"It may prove premature to make plans now," Yusuke agreed.

"That's true," Haru spoke up.

Ryuji gestured at the fireworks behind them, "Still, this is freaking awesome!"

Morgana finished the last piece of tuna on his plate, "It will be . . . hard to top this."

Akira had already finished his food, so he was leaning back in his chair, appearing as much a part of the environment as the castle behind them with his relaxed expression and large headbow. "Any experience with all of us together will be memorable." Once again, it was out before he’d processed it.

"So sentimental." Ryuji tried to complain, but his toothy grin gave him away. In fact, everyone appeared unable to keep their smiles hidden, and they were all directed at their leader.

Akira rubbed the back of his neck when Ann erupted, springing out of her chair, "Akira, that was so sweet!"

He didn't mean anything by it. Rather, it had just been a slip of the tongue, and yet it had resulted in all of them appearing so content. He tried to clarify, "I only mean that, as friends, anything we do together will feel like a special occasion."

Ryuji laughed, "Whoa, just made it worse, dude. You're such a softie."

Yusuke, with elbows on the table, intertwined his fingers and stared straight ahead at Akira, "I only feel more emotional now. Perhaps your true calling would be in writing haiku on shikishi boards.”

Futaba snorted, amused, “ _Greeting cards_ , Inari. You mean he should be writing greeting cards.”

“No, Futaba-chan, I meant haiku on shikishi boards.”

“You’re so weird!”

Ann made her way over to Akira, hugging him from behind, "He just loves his friends and isn't afraid to admit to it. I love you, too, Akira-kun."

Akira tried not to blush; her warm breath was on his ear, and she had a distinct smell from the other girls in their group. She probably wore a perfume of some sort. At least she’d used the less formal way of saying it, saying something more like she liked him very much rather than the formal ‘ _I love you_ ’. They’d already discussed such things before after she nearly confessed a crush she had on him anyway, and he had admitted to her that she was an incredibly important friend to him. She’d then made him pinky promise that they’d always be friends no matter what. It would be an easy promise to keep.

Morgana, predictably, had to ask next, "Do you love me, too, Ann-dono?"

Ann smiled, loosening her grip on Akira as she stood up but keeping her hands on his shoulders, "I love you, too, Morgana."

"And me?" Futaba grinned, pointing toward her own nose.

Ann pounced on the girl beside her, wrapping her arms around her, "Futaba-chan, too!"

“I would also appreciate hearing that you love me, Ann.” Yusuke said in all seriousness.

Ann narrowed her eyes suspiciously, “Yusuke-kun, don’t make it weird.”

“I love you, Yusuke.” Akira smirked, clearly acting out of mischief.

“Thank you, Akira-kun. I love you as well.” Yusuke seemed unfazed.

“Oh my god.” Ryuji threw his head back and sent his eyes to the sky and a hand to his forehead.

Akira grinned, knowing his friend quite well, “Oh, Ryuji is feeling left out. We love you, too, Ryuji.”

His eyes flew to Akira’s, wide and expressive, “Man, just--”

Ann was on Ryuji in a second, hugging him close and laughing, knowing all too well that Akira was teasing and that she could easily join in the game, “You’re so starved for attention, jeeze!”

What she hadn’t realized was that Ryuji’s face had been planted into her chest. He pushed away, red in the face and up to his ears, “What?! No, I’m not!”

Makoto cleared her throat.

Haru finally couldn’t help but giggle at the scene, "How do I put this . . . meeting Mona-chan, making friends with all of you, and saving my father . . . isn't all of this going a little too perfectly?" Her smile faded into a look of quiet concern. She was happy, but she was also cautious from receiving so much good fortune. Wouldn’t something happen to balance it all out?

Morgana pawed at the air, "You worry too much."

"Oh, it's eight," Makoto had her phone in her hand.

Ryuji stood up to pick up the tablet in the middle of the table only to realize he couldn’t unlock it, "Whoa, turn it on." Haru took it from him, and, as the others shuffled their chairs and rearranged themselves so that they could all see, she set up the live stream of the conference and placed the tablet upright to face them.

Haru sat in the middle of all of them with Ann on her right and Ryuji and Akira seated to her left. Morgana had hopped up into her lap and the others were standing behind them.

A few minutes in, Okumura bowed on the screen and Haru felt tears behind her eyes, tension in her head as she processed that he had actually confessed and what they had done had actually worked. "F-father . . ."

Ann put a hand on her shoulder.

And that was when it happened. On the screen, they watched her father grip at his heart shaking with the realization that he couldn't quite control the movements of his own body, collapse, and reveal his trauma to all of Japan in face frozen in horror and pain. His eyes had rolled back inside his head and his blood, so dark with lack of oxygen that it nearly looked black, ran in streaks like slick oil down his face. The feed froze on the single image, his mouth hung open in pure disbelief, proving his own defenselessness as something destroyed him from the inside out.

A second later, a cartoon dog appeared on the screen with white text promising to return to the regularly programmed material.

Haru stood up suddenly and Morgana jumped onto the table.

Akira couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It wasn’t possible that President Okumura would survive something like that. Though, of course, he'd never seen anything like it before. Had it really happened; had he been killed through the metaverse? During the press conference for the confession that they, the Phantom thieves, had provoked, had he really just died there on live television? Had they been set up? They'd done everything the way they normally had, so that only meant that someone had gone in and-- Akira had fallen inside his thoughts, and by the time he’d rejoined the conversation, Haru was already escaping them.

“I-I have to go. I’ll talk to the staff on my way out. Feel free to take your time,” and she was gone.

"Haru!” Ann moved to run after her but Makoto held her back without meeting her eyes.

"This ain't our fault, right?" Ryuji asked.

Yusuke was thumbing through his phone, possibly checking social media outlets for updates or responses, "I'd like to think so . . ."

Makoto shifted her weight from foot to foot, her left arm protectively over her body as her hand gripped her right, "I'll get in contact with Haru later. Today, we should-"

"It's not our fault," Akira finally rejoined the conversation, recovering from the shock and deciding to remain firm in his beliefs. He was the only one still seated, but his position as the leader of the Phantom Thieves, and perhaps his ever confident and calm facade gave the others a moment to pause.

Ann, calmed somewhat by his words but still nervous, asked softly, "But, how could you know that?"

_'People are not innocent themselves'_

Akira covered his mouth with his hand. Why was he thinking of Akechi at a time like this? No, he knew why. He stared at the tablet screen and covered his discomfort by wiping his mouth with his hand as if that had been his plan all along, "Like Morgana said, we did everything the same. Whoever is causing the shutdowns . . . probably did this as well."

"That is possible." Morgana agreed.

Makoto must have sensed what had happened to the team morale in a matter of minutes, because she insisted again, "We should sleep on this and discuss it tomorrow."

They all agreed this time, but Akira stood and walked off without looking back or saying goodbye. His hand went immediately for his phone and he swiped across the screen to find his contacts.

_If Akechi doesn't answer . . . if he doesn't then--_

Akira, having never called or texted Akechi as of yet, decided to text first. Akechi's first text was waiting there innocently. Akira texted a response, _'You there?_ '.

He waited, not really paying attention to where he was going as he made his way down the cobblestone street. Nothing. He waited for the time to change, for a minute to pass. He wouldn't text again until a full minute had--

' _Akechi, I’m going to call you on the phone_.' He texted again. He'd wait a full minute again. Maybe Akechi was working. Of course, he was busy. Maybe he was in the car, headed over to the site of the press conference. Maybe he was at the press conference. He hadn't thought of that. But no-why? How would he have seen it coming? Why would he be at the press conference? No, he was just working, probably. Or reading. Or studying. Or. A minute had passed. Akira hit the green call button.

After three excruciatingly long rings, someone answered the phone. Akira waited, confused. No one was saying anything on the other end of the line, so he questioned if anyone was there at all, “Hello?”

On the other end of the line, a groggy yawn sounded over the phone followed by a tired, bewildered voice, “K-Kurusu-kun?”

“Were you asleep?” Akira felt himself smile wider than he'd wanted to admit. ' _Asleep_ ' had not been on the list of things he'd come up with for Akechi to be doing on a Tuesday night in October. Is that when he slept?

“Yes,” the voice grew slightly annoyed, clearly unhappy that he'd been caught. A creak could be heard and then the shuffling of papers.

Akira wasted no time with an apology he wouldn't have meant and asked first, “Did you see the press conference?”

“What time is it?" He heard the sound of a computer being booted up, "Oh, no, I’d fallen asleep," he repeated, the effects of sleep still weighing heavily on him, "What-Why, did something happen?”

Akira tried to choose his words carefully, “The president of Okumura Foods. He . . . it looked like he died in the middle of his press conference.”

“What?” There was a sudden screech of a chair and something fell over. Pencils?

“On live television," Akira added.

“What? Seriously?!" There was more shuffling around, "Shit! I can't believe I missed something like this. I've got to get to the station."

“The Phantom Thieves?” Akira tested, neutral but prepared.

“No, that just can’t be right.” He could hear a pen drop and more papers being gathered, and then fingers over keys, “Damn it! Kurusu-kun, I have to go.”

“Yeah," Akira said slowly, his suspicions beginning to surface from the back of his mind.

In a rush, Akechi ended with formal platitudes, “Thank you for calling me. Good night.”

“Good-”

Two short, deep tones signaled the end of the phone call. Akechi had hung up. Akira stared at his phone and watched it turn automatically to his home screen. How much of that had been genuine?

“Akira--” Morgana caught up to him after leaving the rest of the party behind.

Carefully, Akira asked him, “Would you like to keep her company? Haru?”

Morgana thoughtfully considered it a moment before responding, “That . . . it would be better if I didn’t. There will likely be police there when she gets home. Because it might be tied to the Phantom Thieves, Sae might be there. It’s too much of a risk.”

Akira went silent as he continued walking out of the empty park.

“You called Akechi?” Morgana walked around in front of him and sat. He wouldn’t let Akira separate himself further from the rest of the group without first explaining himself.

Akira put his hands in his pockets and slouched. He stared down at the cat with a blank expression and a shrug, “I can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

‘ _Suspecting him. It hurts._ ’ Akira wouldn’t say it aloud. It felt like, if he did, he’d be admitting to something. He was not sure what he’d be admitting to, but it feels wrong. It makes him feel guilty. Somehow, he felt selfish for it.

Morgana couldn’t frown, as a cat, but he stared meaningfully back up at Akira and shook his head slowly, “Don’t say that . . .”

It clicked at once. Morgana assumed he meant the Phantom Thieves. He thought he was wanting to quit the team. “No, I mean--not that.” He knelt down and pet Morgana’s head only for the cat to shake out of his touch. Right, a human, not a cat. “I have everyone’s support; it’s not that.” Akira’s weight shifted to the balls of his feet and he crossed his arms over his knees in much the way Futaba might. Slowly, he admitted, “I can’t keep . . . suspecting Akechi.”

Morgana stood up again, appreciating that Akira was refreshingly honest about the subject for once. “Your personal feelings are getting in the way of the reality of the situation. He may truly be the missing piece in all of this.” Morgana paused, but Akira didn’t say anything to the contrary, so he added, “But, he may not.”

Akira stood back up, his hands going in his pockets again, “It’s likely.” He stared at the night sky where the smoke from the explosives clouded it over, “No, he’s the most likely. I just--” The evidence was staring them in the face, but it wasn’t enough to say for sure. He wondered if Akechi felt the same way with him. It was rather dramatic to wait time on thoughts involving _‘in a world where he wasn’t a detective_ ’ or ‘ _in a world where I wasn’t a thief_ ’, but the idea had surfaced more than once, each time more poisonous. “I’m sorry, Morgana. I’m being selfish.”

“What? No, it’s not that.” Morgana walked beside him and rubbed against his jeans in an effort to comfort him. Akira noted, as always, Morgana could only act like a cat on his terms.

Akira clarified his line of reasoning. As a leader, he couldn’t afford to be distracted. “I need to put the team first, no matter what I want to think or what I wish were true.”

It wasn’t something Morgana could argue with and Akira knew it. "It might be best to separate yourself from him. At least, until we sort all of this out." He didn’t quite understand what Akira liked so much about Akechi Goro, but he understood that he had already become someone important to him. Perhaps it was just a matter of time.

Akira nodded his agreement and set his bag down for Morgana to hop inside. It was time to go home.

 

* * *

 

Akechi hung up the phone and straightened up the papers he had messed around to make it sound like he had been waking up. He hadn’t been asleep; he’d been ignoring Akira. Lying on the phone was so easy and Kurusu had just eaten right out of his hand. He straightened his tie next and stepped out of the office he used while at the station. He hadn’t expected Kurusu to actually call him on the phone. And why had he? Why had he been so invested suddenly in hearing from him right in that moment?

There was only one possibility: he suspected him.

But how!? And why?

_Goddammit, where the hell did I go wrong?_

He needed to find Sae.


	7. 10/13

 

 **Haru:** My apologies for messaging you early in the morning. Things have calmed down here at home, so I’d like to take the time now to discuss something that’s bothering me.

 **Akira:** Sure.

 

He waited, staring at his phone screen at seven in the morning on a Thursday. She had texted only him and hadn’t bothered with the group chat. He felt happy that once again someone he already considered a friend was ready to rely on him, but after what had just happened, he wasn’t sure how the others would react to know that she had singled him out rather than asking to speak to all of them. Akira needed more information out of her.

 

 **Akira:** How are you feeling?

 **Haru:** I’m fine. Thank you for asking. Would it be too much to meet up with you after school?

 

‘ _Fine_ ’? That was a lie, and if it wasn’t, that’d be even more disconcerting. Her father had just been killed on national television. She’d never mentioned her mother or any other siblings. To Futaba’s knowledge, the Okumura family consisted only of Haru herself and her father. That meant that right now, she was alone.

 

 **Akira:** We’ve all been really worried about you. I’m sure the others would like to know you’re okay.

 

If she was reading the group chat, which he assumed she was, there was already evidence that they were all concerned. On top of that, a few of the others had even attempted calling her and texting her, but she had never responded to them. What had he done to deserve a private audience with her? Why was she reaching out to him when Makoto had made so many attempts to reach out to her? Several minutes passed. Finally, she responded.

 

 **Haru:** You’re right, Akira-kun. Could you call everyone to the hideout this afternoon?

 **Akira:** Sure thing.

 

He set the phone down on the bed and Morgana leapt off just in time in search of breakfast, “She must be really suffering right now. Don’t tease her, Akira.”

 

Akira yawned and stretched as the cat disappeared down the stairs. He assumed the same thing, but it had been less than 48 hours of her father’s death, and she was already attempting to convince others that she was okay by saying she was ‘ _fine_ ’. Surely she knew better that he wouldn’t believe something like that. On top of that, she wanted to meet with them, the people who had promised her on more than one occasion that what they were doing inside her father’s subconscious was safe, that it wouldn’t harm him, that he wouldn’t end up crying tears of blood while his eyes rolled back inside his head.

 

_‘I’m not quite sure how to act.’_

 

Akira remembered what she’d said the night before last at Disneyland. How could he convince her that she didn’t need to? How could he show her that with the Phantom Thieves, with her friends, she didn’t have to act?

 

* * *

 

They were upstairs waiting for her that afternoon as Ann read through the posts on the Phan Site, “People are posting that we killed Okumura.” She was sitting in the desk chair with her legs crossed, her eyes on the screen on her phone as her thumb slid upward to see newer posts.

Yusuke was also seated, but his box of Calbee potato sticks were nowhere to be found. He interlaced his fingers, rested his elbows on his thighs, leaned forward, and put his chin over his woven fingers. “It makes the most sense.”

Akira appreciated how much Yusuke had said with so few words. Okumura had received their calling card, he’d called a conference, he’d confessed; it all added up. While it was true that they had yet to kill anyone thus far, to the public, everything looked the same.

Futaba was beside him on his bed, her legs stretched out in front of her as she tapped at her own phone, “What a lightning fast change in attitude.”

He read over her shoulder some of the comments.

_‘The Phantom Thieves are criminals! Murders!’_

_‘They should be arrested!’_

_‘The PT went too far!’_

“It’s like him, like Akechi,” he heard himself say.

Ryuji sputtered, “No, he actually deserved it.”

Akira wouldn’t argue against that, so he remained silent, slightly surprised with himself that he’d even said it.

“Human hearts are fickle,” Yusuke responded calmly.

“I can’t believe this. One second they’re cheering us on and the next they want our heads on sticks!” Ann finally tucked her phone away in a huff.

“Right? They were beggin’ us on the PhanSite to take care of Okumura. Like, what the hell?! They don’t know our situation. They can’t just blame his death on us because it’s convenient. What are they so pissed about any-”

Haru stood at the top of the stairs and Ryuji immediately shut up.

Makoto stood up to make room for her on the couch, “Haru, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s okay, I’ll stand,” she said politely, a tone in her voice they hadn’t heard since their first meeting with her at school. She was distancing herself from them even further. Something else must of happened. “Thank you for waiting for me.”

“My condolences,” Makoto replied quietly, her voice thick with remorse.

The others muttered similar messages, but in response Haru shook her head and gave a small, warm smile, “It’s fine. Thank you.”

_She means it._

Akira hid his thoughts in his neutral expression. He couldn’t understand it. He thought back on her actions thus far in concern to her father. How was she actually feeling concerning his death? Was some part of her relieved? Happy, even? They hadn’t known each other for very long. He searched the expressions of everyone else in the room. None of them appeared bothered by her quick recovery.

“There was a reason I asked you all to come today. Did you all--did the Phantom Thieves kill the principal?”

Ann spoke first, “Shujin’s?”

Haru nodded and explained what had happened at her house the day before, what Nijima Sae, Maokto’s sister, had told her, and where her suspicions had lead her.

“That wasn’t us!” Ryuji wasn’t yelling, but he was, by far, the most passionate one in the room.

“This is all escalating too quickly. The principal. Your father. It’s like Akira said yesterday. We’ve been set up.” Makoto, once again, appeared to be seeing the situation from all angles.

For a second Haru’s eyes met his before she darted them away and back to Makoto.

Makoto explained, “After you left, he suggested it might be the case.”

Haru nodded, her walls down again as they had been at Disneyland two days prior, “I didn’t want to suspect all of you; I’m just confused. But, but I want to believe in all of you.”

“That’s a wise choice,” Yusuke smiled. The heavy atmosphere lifted completely with Haru’s smile.

“We’ve been worried, Haru!” Ann exclaimed, “Let’s take you out or something. It’s dinner time. Wanna hit up the diner with us?”

Haru nodded, “That would be nice.”

 

* * *

 

With that decided, they all made their way down the stairs to Leblanc with Akira leading the way. As the small coffee shop came into view, he noticed that some regulars were sitting in the middle booth, a middle aged couple that came for the curry and typically conversation with Sojiro. In his usual spot at the bar, Akechi sat with his coffee mug in both gloved hands, centimeters from his lips. Their eyes met, and Akira watched his features visibly soften, his hair glowing from what was left of the daylight filtering in through the windows behind him. Had his hair grown longer?  How many days had it been?

_‘It might be best to separate yourself from him. At least, until we sort all of this out.’_

He agreed with Morgana which was why he kept himself from returning the smile, which, he would admit only to himself, was difficult, especially when Akechi’s expression appeared so genuine. If Akechi was offering a rare moment of honesty, shouldn't he return it?

“You’re here early,” Akira's words held no expectations or strings attached. His expression remained neutral. He didn't return the smile.

As expected, Goro’s walls went up immediately like a switch being flipped and the genuine warmth that had been resting there quietly in his amber eyes had disappeared entirely, “Am I?” He gestured to the others behind Akira, “Wow, is it a special occasion? Everyone is here, huh?”

The leader of the Phantom Thieves felt relief when he was no longer on the receiving end of the detective prince's gaze as Akechi directed his attention elsewhere.

“Everyone?” Ann asked.

Akira appreciated her wit, even if it came and went. However, the detective prince effortlessly glossed over his words, “All of Kurusu-kun’s friends. He has mentioned you all before.”

It was a lie, but they didn’t know that. He hadn’t mentioned his connection to Haru, but Akira didn’t correct him. The less they interacted the better, and now was neither the time nor place.

“Oh, Okumura-san?”

“You know who I am?” Haru stepped forward, slightly unprepared only because she had not actually made any public appearances recently in light of her father’s death.

Akechi appeared apologetic, but to Akira, it was in appearance alone, “I apologize. My name is-”

“I know who you are,” Haru interrupted him, but it did not seem impolite in doing so. It must have been a skill someone who grew up with her status acquired early on.

Akechi set down his mug on the counter and actually stood, “Right, again, forgive me.” He extended his hand and Haru politely took it only for him to place his other on top of hers. “I only wanted to offer my condolences. It was truly frightening to witness such a tragedy even though I, myself, was not acquainted with your father. I can only imagine the pain you must be going through.” It was more than any of them had said, and while the detective prince’s eyes searched Haru’s, Akira’s searched his. Did he realize he was going too far?  “I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

Once again, Akira found himself wondering if he meant what he was saying or not. It was getting more difficult rather than easier. Was it because he was influenced by what he wanted to believe versus the truth? Or, was it Akechi who was confused?

A few seconds of silence passed between them before Haru withdrew her hand, her eyes still captured by the spell of the detective prince, “Th-thank you.”

Before sitting back down, he used his TV voice, strong in conviction, or at least as strong in conviction as a lie could be, and promised her, “Sae-san and myself will do everything we can to bring him justice.”

Makoto stepped forward, a hand on Haru’s shoulder as if comforting her after having to witness Akechi’s little charade, “Akechi-kun, do you think this was the work of the Phantom Thieves?”

His gloved hands were on his coffee mug again, and he spoke as if he had rehearsed the words a thousand times. He’d been ready for this question, “No, in all honesty, I don’t believe they’d do something like this.”

“And why’s that?” Ryuji spoke up next, clearly showing on his face that he didn’t believe the answer.

Akechi’s rehearsed answer came out smooth and confident, his ego clearly showing between his teeth, “Their sole purpose thus far has been to change the hearts of those they deem corrupt. Never before have they killed someone. I don’t see why they would now.”

Ryuji answered, remembering a few things that had been said on the Phan Site, “Maybe they just did it for fame. Or respect or something.”

“I highly doubt that,” Goro waved it off.

Makoto frowned. It was clear that she didn’t enjoy her interactions with Akechi Goro for the most part, and now, with emotions running high, it was more difficult for her to keep those feelings of suspicion hidden, “Even though you disagree with their methods, you’re prepared to defend their nonaffiliation with this crime?”

“Of course.” He looked down into his coffee mug a moment, his expression shifting into something somber but still artificial, “I just hope Sae-san feels the same way.”

“What was that?” Makoto was on the defensive. Akira would need to cut in if this escalated, but he was hoping that Goro wouldn’t let it go that far even if part of him was under the suspicion that his comment had been said entirely with the intent to bait Makoto.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The TV idol chuckled lightly, “This place has that effect on me. I really shouldn’t discuss the case so openly. Excuse me.”

Akira focused on keeping his expression blank. Akechi was saying too much.

Ann tugged on Makoto’s arm to pull her towards the door, “We were just leaving, anyway.”

Sojiro finally spoke up, “Heading out?”

“Yeah, we’re going to Shibuya for dinner,” Akira responded for all of them. It was a lie. He wasn’t, and he didn’t intend, too. He had too much to get done, so socializing would have to wait. He was sure they’d understand; he was always operating in favor of the team, or, at least he could now . . . now that he’d decided to keep his distance from one Akechi Goro.

“Don’t get into any trouble.” The typical warning that came from a place of caring Sojiro was a lot worse at hiding than he thought.

“Night night!” Futaba called back to him.

“Especially you!” he called out as she walked outside.

“Of course not. It’s Inari-kun you have to watch out for!”

Before Sojiro could call back, the door shut leaving only Akira behind with Akechi while the rest waited outside.

Sojiro was standing on the other side of the counter opposite Akechi when he asked him point blank, “You’re not going to join them?”

Akira studied the floor. What was Sojiro doing?

“I wasn’t invited," Akechi replied with a smile directed at Sojiro.

Akira remained silent. He knew Sojiro always held the best intentions, but there was too much he didn't know concerning their situation. Akira awkwardly waited between Akechi and the door.

He could feel Akechi's eyes on him and finally looked up as he spoke, “I have quite a bit of work to address anyway after what just happened. Kurusu-kun, please enjoy your evening.”

Akira nodded, relieved, and wordlessly said goodbye to Sojiro and left Leblanc for the early evening air.

Outside, he began walking with the others to the station as they shared their opinions on which cafe to go to in Shibuya.

When they were arriving at the station, Akira broke the news, “I’m meeting up with Ohya-san in Shinjuku, so I’ll see you guys tomorrow. She might have some information regarding the press conference.”

“So diligent, leader,” Morgana said, hopping into Futaba’s arms instead as a clear indication that he’d be sneaking out with them instead of keeping him company for the evening.

After they parted ways, he looked down at his text on his phone.

 

 **Ohya:** I’m having trouble with Kayo’s case, and I need someone to talk to. Do you have time tonight?

 **Akira:** On my way.

 

What was Akira if only the person to talk to?

 

* * *

 

Under the pink and red fluorescent light, Akira sat on a stool inside crossroads while he listened to Ohya’s story. The air smelled of smoke even though no one inside held a cigarette to his lips, but, even still, he found the light jazz and cool air comforting. His water always tasted a bit off, as if his glass was never fully clean of the alcohol it normally contained, but he'd come to Crossroads too many times now to expect anything else.

Ohya had her legs crossed and her elbow on the bar. Lala had explained that this was her third drink before he'd gotten there, so this being her fourth, she likely would be leaving to go home soon. Ohya enjoyed drinking, but she and Lala were close enough to know that they would both conduct themselves in a way to keep them both safe. Even if Ohya asked for a sixth, she knew she'd be rejected.

"Basically, I’ve barked up every tree I could find looking for Kayo, but there was no trace of her. I don’t know where to look," she continued, sounding more exasperated than discouraged, which if Akira were being honest, was probably as discouraged as the woman got.

Ohya was incredibly tenacious if nothing else, and that was one of the reasons Akira always felt himself coming back to speak with her.

"Have you tried her family?" he offered, realizing she hadn't said anything about Kayo's family at all. His mind was all over the place, which was appropriate due to recent events, but he didn't like it. He liked focusing on one thing at a time. At the moment, however, he was thinking of Ohya and Hifumi and Haru and the future of the thieves and . . . and Akechi.

"Her family?" Ohya looked at her drink which was now nearly gone. Then, she looked at Lala who looked stern and unimpressed. Finally, she made eye contact with Akira again, "No, I couldn’t even find any record _about_ her family. Isn't that ridiculous?"

Lala shook her head, her voice deep and pitiless, “Have you been meeting your quota? At this rate, you’re going to work yourself to death."

Ohya let the subject shift from Kayo without realizing it and immediately straightened up as her voice rang with that familiar, defiant spirit, “The chief is waiting for me to break, but I won’t do it! Fuck that guy. I can handle anything.”

It made Akira smile behind his glass of alcohol-flavored water.

“You need to approach Kayo’s case with the same attitude," Akira heard himself say. In the confines of Crossroads, it was easy for him to forget that he was not an adult on equal footing as Ohya.

That fire was suddenly directed at him and Ohya raised an eyebrow in his direction, “Who says I’m not?”

“He’s trying to help.” Lala waved her hand and the kimono sleeve swayed as she spoke a smooth ' _yare yare_ ' under breath. “Anyway, it sounds like you have to take care of him first before you can focus on Kayo.”

The spell appeared to work because Ohya sighed before relaxing her muscles and downing the rest of what little was left of her drink, “Pretty much, yeah, but it’s impossible. That guy’s rotten to the core. He showed up here of all places and asked me personal shit like about my not!boyfriend Akira-kun, here," She gestured to Akira before slamming her glass on the counter, "He’s messed up!”

“What’s his name?” Akira asked, deciding that if there was an opportunity for him to fix anything going on around him, he'd take it.

“Who? The chief?” She appeared caught off guard.

He nodded.

She nearly giggled at his serious expression, “Why, you gonna take him out for me?”

“Ohya!” Lala scolded at her behavior. No matter how much older Akira felt or appeared, she was always reminding him that he was a minor in a bar full of adults.

“Whaaaat? I’m not being serious," she smiled and tented her fingers as if she were still  entertaining the thought in the confines of her own mind, "It’s Shinpei Honjo.”

“Thanks. Got it,” Akira typed it into his phone to remember.

Lala eyed him suspiciously, “Don’t get any weird ideas."

Ohya frowned, watching him now as if he had only just appeared and they hadn't been speaking now for a near half hour, "Akira-kun, you look kind of out of it.”

Akira took his chance, “Did you see what happened with Okumura-san? I was watching.” He kept his expression blank. Did he really look ' _out of it_ ' as she'd said?

Ohya's tone became serious like the topic had sobered her up instantaneously, “Yeah, I did. I was there. I can’t believe it was broadcast everywhere. I know they couldn’t have known it was coming, but children could have been watching. It was gruesome even for me.”

Akira hadn't really thought of that, but it was true. No one could have known that was coming save for the killer themselves, but still, it would likely be ingrained in many people's minds forever. “Do you think it was them? The Phantom Thieves?”

Ohya leaned back in her stool, grabbing her knee for balance and reminding the other two watching her that even if she sounded sober, she was still at her limit, “No way. I have no idea how it happened, but it would make no sense for the Phantom Thieves to suddenly change their method like that. No, it wasn’t them.”

Akira studied the checkered floor. She was saying nearly the same thing as Akechi.

He looked back up at her, still unable to smile about the situation, but holding relief in his voice at the very least, “Ohya-san, thank you.”

She thrust herself forward and landed her feet suddenly on the floor of the bar and stood. She stretched her arms and relaxed, suddenly closer to Akira than he'd been prepared for, “This is a mess. All of it. Don't get in over your head." She straightened and turned toward Lala, "I’m gonna head out so I can get some sleep," and then looked back at him, "Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

He rolled his eyes, knowing she was teasing, “Goodnight, Ohya-san.”

She winked and made for the door, “See you, Akira-kun. Lala.”

“Be safe going home, Ohya.”

Lala picked up Ohya's glass and brought it to the sink.

Akira stared at her back for a moment, studying the pattern in the kimono for while until he finally asked, “May I stay and work a little tonight?”

Lala turned around and crossed her arms "It's ten-thirty which is pretty late for a school night, but the rush will be here soon."

"I have a 4.0," Akira shrugged, glad that Morgana wasn't there to guilt him into going home to sleep.

Lala grunted at his sass and handed him his apron since no one else seemed to work there aside from her, “Sure, baby, that’s fine.”

 

* * *

 

“I can’t leave my husband.” The woman was still in her work clothes, a blue satin blouse and a tan pencil skirt that stopped just above her knees. Her hair was in a bun until Lala had poured her whiskey highball and she'd taken in the comfort of her surroundings to allow herself to literally let her hair down. Her hair barrette now rested on the bar beside her glass and her black hair cascaded all the way down her back. She was naturally pretty, but she would have been more beautiful if she smiled, as cliche as that felt. The way she hunched over, her shoulders falling forward, the way her eyes stared downcast at her drink, and the way her teeth kept appearing to bite down at her bottom lip, were all signs that she needed someone to hear her out.

It was pretty much the only thing listed in his job description aside from washing dishes, but Akira was not ready for this. He searched for a way out. There was a party of salarymen in the back booth and the only other two aside from the woman in front of him were two other salarymen that Lala was busy entertaining.

“Why would you want to?” he gave in. It wasn't that he didn't want to help; it was that he didn't have the energy for it. Who was to blame for that?

She nodded as if he'd said something else and her brown eyes met his gray ones, “He has been lying to me. He has been lying for a long time."

He waited, his eyes finally softening a bit. He certainly knew what it was like to be lied to.  "It’s not about an affair with another woman or something like that. It’s worse than that. He admitted it to me a week ago and I still can’t make sense of it.” Manicured fingernails brushed through her black hair and she studied her barrette again.

He absently wondered if it had been a gift from him. When she said nothing else, he waited. It always worked with the adults he'd meet here at Crossroads. They always wanted to talk, to be heard, to be listened to; they rarely ever wanted to hear him speak in return.

“He said he doesn’t love me like I love him. He said he never has," she said finally.

Without thinking, Akira let slip, “It’s good that he is being honest with you now.”

She sat up suddenly, revived from hearing his response if only because she had something to oppose, “But that’s it. I can't look at him anymore-not because he lied, but because I knew and I stayed.”

Akira thought over what she said. No, he hadn't asked for this conversation, but now that he was a part of it, it was best he follow through with the same sincerity she was offering, even if it was laced in alcohol and she'd possibly forget the whole thing by the next morning.

So, their relationship was built on a lie, a love that was never reciprocated on his end, and even if she knew that, she continued it anyway? And now she felt guilty over it? No, she hated herself for not caring? Wasn't he partly responsible, though?

“And I’m still with him. I’m not strong enough to leave him, or no, maybe I don’t even want to.” The barrette was now in her hands and she pressed her fingers around it, feeling the grooves of the teeth and the smooth surface of the gems.

“Did he say why he stayed with you?” It was the most tactful he could be without pointing out that this wasn't all on her.

Her eyes were on the barrette as she spoke as if the past were written there, “I wanted to get married. He wanted to get married. He said he just wanted it to happen before it was ‘ _too late_ ’.”

Akira put his hand to his chin, thoughtful. That was pretty shitty, actually. He'd married her because there was no one else around at the time? Akira said nothing in response; it wasn't really his place.

“Who am I kidding? I stayed because I love him. I can’t leave him because--I’m cursed to go on loving him, maybe forever. He’s not--he’s not a bad man. What he did was wrong, but he--What I did was wrong, too." There it was. Her smile. It was small and warm and made her look years younger. Even directed at the barrette, Akira felt it was a small victory that it appeared at all, "He’s so hard-working and responsible. He takes so much pride in what he does; our wedding wasn’t half-assed or anything. Look at this thing.” She looked at him suddenly and held the barrette in her hands out to him. Hesitating a moment, Akira took it from her and turned it over in his hands with a nod, not sure what he was supposed to ascertain from holding it himself. "He designed it. He has this thoughtful and artistic side." He held it back out for her to take and she took it back, staring at it again, "I . . . I couldn't make him happy. All these years that I've loved him, and I could never make him happy."

The woman was all over the place in her story-telling, but Akira was able to keep up. Basically, she had fallen in love with him, and he'd taken a gamble on her. They'd been together however many years now, and though she still loved him, he remained unchanged.

"Why did he admit to it now?"

She set the barrette back on the counter and took a drink as if preparing herself to answer his question. “Why, after all of this time? I don't know. He couldn’t lie anymore? He had a, what are they calling it lately, ‘ _change of heart_ ’? The Phantom Thieves made him come clean?" she laughed bitterly. "I want to believe that he changed because he wants to stay by my side, because he wants our relationship to improve, but it’s only me being selfish. He couldn’t hold the guilt anymore, I'm sure. He wants to be happy, free from me.”

Akira took a deep breath and released it slowly. This could go on one of two ways, but he went for it anyway, “Has he told you that?"

"What?" she looked up, eyes round and a little red. She'd clearly been crying recently; it was evident even in the mood lighting of the bar.

"After he admitted that he didn't love you, did he say he was leaving you?"

She was quiet a long time before she answered. " . . . No."

Akira said nothing as he watched her expressions. She was clearly putting something together in her mind as the silence passed between them.

"Has he changed in any other way?"

"He stopped going out with his coworkers," she admitted. He went silent again and she added, "He . . . he's home every night in time to have dinner with me."

"He--" she started and then silenced herself with a gasp.

What did it mean when someone was honest with someone else? Trust. Honesty was always the first step in understanding someone else and trust was just a promise that the honesty would continue. It was that transparency that truly connected people, that forged bonds between others that never broke, unless, of course, a lie disrupted it. Even if someone had been honest a hundred times with you, it would only take one lie to break trust. This was the opposite, wasn't it? They'd both been lying. This was their first step in the right direction.

Akira finally spoke, his tone gentle, "He spoke to you because he trusts you."

She moved her hands under her eyes and he realized that she'd started crying. "He's not giving up?"

Akira wasn't sure of that, but he didn't say anything to the contrary. Instead, he handed her a few of the napkins that were stacked on top of the bar further away and she took them to dab at her eyes.

"You should be a therapist," she said a minute later after she'd recovered.

He'd heard a great many things concerning how easy it was for others to relax around him, but no one had outright told him that.

"Really!" She smiled again and her eyes held his, "I only just met you but, you're right aren't you? He's still here. He doesn't want to leave me. If he said all of that to me then that means he wants things to get better, doesn't he? He knows that's what I want, too. He--"

She stopped herself and blinked, her tone suddenly filled with an innocent curiosity, "Are you old enough to work in a bar? You look really young."

"I just turned twenty over the summer," he replied easily. He'd had that lie ready since his first shift at Crossroads.

She put the barrette back in her hair, fixing her long black locks as she spoke, "I should send my coworker here to meet you. Are you studying psychology? Really, you-"

Lala was beside him already pouring another drink, "Another whiskey highball, Saki-chan?"

"Yes, thank you, Lala."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize this fic is super slow moving, so thank you for sticking it out with me. I hope you enjoy how it develops. Comments, criticism or otherwise, are super appreciated.


	8. 10/15

Akira struggled to keep his eyes open as he walked past Akechi who was in his usual seat in Leblanc. He said something, but Akira didn't quite catch it. All he noticed was that he looked almost annoyingly plastic today. Their eyes met, and he gave some kind of greeting in response. He noticed that Goro's eyes softened, but neither of them said anything else. Akechi had been to Leblanc three days in a row now. Yesterday, Akira had managed to time his exit just as Akechi had arrived. He’d given a half-hearted apology about the day before, and Akechi had clearly seen through it. Whatever trust had been built in conversations about favorite films and tastes in music had all but evaporated. When he allowed himself a moment of time to think about it, he felt like something important enough to change his life was slipping away from him, so he tried not to think about it at all.

"You must be tired after today. Let's go to sleep," Morgana's familiar mantra floated to his ears. The cat's head peeked out from the top of his bag, sounding like Kurusu's only motherly figure in his life aside from maybe Makoto, at times.

"That cat's probably telling you to go to bed. Head on up." Sojiro was putting away the siphons they used to make their coffee. He turned the burners to ' _ Off _ ' and Akira watched the flame die down from orange to blue to nothing like day fading into night. He'd forgotten to watch Akechi. Had the amateur detective heard Morgana again? Was Akira awake enough to read a crack in his expressions even if he had?

Akira yawned, nodded, and headed upstairs. If Akechi or Sojiro had said anything else, he hadn't caught it.

The thieves had just gotten back from Mementos to reform Mitsuyo Togo. He wanted to speak to her right away to see its effect. He’d probably need a massage, though. After setting down his bag for Morgana to hop out, he stretched. The aches and pains of battle were not so debilitating today. He was only out of it because he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. He had finally finished the Eternal Lockpick. It had taken him much longer than either himself or Morgana had expected but he’d wanted to use it in Mementos today which was why the cat had allowed him to complete it and stay up so late past his unstated  _ bedtime _ .

"Why aren't you changing into your pajamas?" Morgana was already on the bed, eyes heavy as he yawned.

"I'm going to call Kawakami." Akira had decided; there would be no changing his mind.

"Do you think that's such a good idea? What you need now is sleep--not a massage." Morgana would never outright say he was concerned, even when it was obvious.

"Hifumi texted me; I'm going to meet her in Kanda." He'd read the text on the quick train ride on the Den-en-toshi from Shibuya to Yongenjaya.

"It can wait until tomorrow," Morgana insisted, his tone still friendly even if not even more drained than it had been at the start.

Akira wouldn't admit how tired he was or how right Morgana was. He wanted to know that Hifumi had gotten out of her shitty situation. "Maybe you should head to Futaba's tonight. I've got to get this done."

Morgana couldn't roll his eyes in this form, so he settled on moving his head in a circle. Akira took a hint. They'd been together for months, so he'd since learned Morgana's non-verbal cues in his cat form. "I'll sleep on the futon." Morgana leapt from the bed to the floor and then from the floor to the futon.

Akira gave a grateful smile as the cat settled in the cushion of the small couch, "Thanks." Morgana closed his eyes.

When he went downstairs less than ten minutes later to use the payphone, he realized that Akechi had already left. It was another evening in which they’d only exchanged greetings.

Today, that worked in his favor, however. He knew he'd be unable to refuse an opportunity to spend time with the detective for whatever reason, even though he was completely unguarded at the moment. For as often as Morgana’s warning echoed in his mind, he couldn’t help but want to be near to Akechi, to watch him, to learn him. It was . . . 

_ ‘Oh my god, he’s flirting!’ _

Ann’s enthusiasm replayed in his mind. 

It was just stupid was what it was. Even if he was attracted to Akechi, which he wasn't, it wouldn't matter. Akechi was more than a detective or someone that could be labeled as an ememy; he was, put simply, someone Akira couldn't trust. And, if there was anything he had to watch out for in order to keep his friends safe, it was people he couldn't trust.

Sojiro had put everything away, but the dishes had been left undone. “I’ll close up early. That kid is usually the last one in, anyway." Sojiro sprayed the counter with a cleaning solution and began wiping it down with a wet rag. "He’s become a new fixture in the place," he said as his hand guided the white rag in long strides across the bar. "I can tell when it’s time to close just by whether or not he’s the only one here.”

“Yeah," Akira agreed lamely. Sojiro had noticed it, too? He rubbed at his eyes. Of course he had; it was impossible not to. Akechi was here too often.

_ ‘Excuse me . . . I got too comfortable again.’ _

Akira knew his shift in attitude towards Akechi did not go unnoticed by him. He remembered assuring him that there was no such thing as being too comfortable within these walls and that he was welcome there any time. Did Akechi still believe that? No, probably not. He had to keep telling himself it was for the best, otherwise, that feeling would come back again something like--

_ 'I believe that fate brings people together.' _

Akira didn't believe in fate.

When Akira stood by the bar with nothing to do but wait for Sojiro to leave so that he could use the pay phone, Sojiro sounded suspicious suddenly, "You got something you want to say?"

"No, no, I was just getting some, uh, milk. For Morgana." He played with his hair, rubbing it between two fingers absently.

Sojiro nodded, pulling it out of the fridge and placing it on the counter. "You gonna heat it up?"

"I'll take care of it."

Sojiro nodded, "Nice to see you show responsibility." He put away the rag and his apron and walked around the counter. “Lock up after I leave.”

“Sure thing.” Kurusu nodded.

Just as Sojiro was about to walk out of the door, he turned back to look at his charge and spoke with a voice sterner than he'd meant to, “Oh, and finish the dishes in the sink if you’re staying up.”

Akira nodded again, “Yeah.”

With that, Sojiro was gone and Akira was free to use the yellow pay phone without suspicion. He dialed Kawakami’s cell. He'd memorized it by now. Pretty much any time Akechi wasn't there, he was calling Kawakami to come by and make infiltration tools or do laundry or fix some coffee to take with him to Mementos. At this point, they were as close as two people labeled 'teacher' and 'student' could be without crossing into a territory that was dangerous for both of them. At one point, she'd seemed almost interested, but Akira had gently laid her suspicions to rest which, more than anything, seemed like a relief on her part.

“Hiii, Maid Service! Becky speaking.”

He felt himself smile, “Good evening, Sensei.”

He could hear one of her signature sighs on the other end of the line like she'd just completely had enough of him or teaching or life in general. It wasn't very honest, but it was kind of cute.

“Kurusu-san, really?" Why did he always have to use the pay phone when calling her? She was ready to tell the person on the other line that she had quit that nonsense and that they needed to stop calling her. "What do you need at this hour?”

“A massage,” he managed.

“Fine, fine, I’m on my way. You’re lucky I also live in Yongenjaya, jeeze. Wait for me.”

Her energy was infectious and he already felt a bit more awake just from the conversation. “Is that any way to speak to your master?”

All that answered him was a dial tone. He smiled. He deserved that. It would be nice to see Kawakami; she was so much happier now that she wasn’t burdened with her past. Her lessons had even gotten more interesting.

Akira stood up from the chair by the phone and walked over to put away the milk. He eyed the dishes with a frown. He was too tired. Maybe Sadayo would do it for him if he asked nicely.

Like a zombie, he walked back over to the booth nearest to the door, sat down, and waited. He hoped the news he'd hear from Hifumi would be positive. Her mom was ridiculous. What a shitty thing to do. He closed his eyes and wondered what Akechi had said when he’d come in earlier. When his expression had softened, what was the reason for it? Was he sad? Concerned? Worried? No, he wouldn’t worry about him. At least, he shouldn’t. After all, it was Akira that was choosing to abandon him. Was that too much? He wondered who else Akechi talked to. Was it about talking or was it about something else? He remembered the woman at Crossroads with the black hair and the barrette. What had she said?

 

* * *

 

"Kurusu-kun? Ugh, you shouldn't leave the door to a cafe unlocked at eight at night. The ' _ Open' _ sign is still up. I switched it for you on my way in. You could have been robbed!" A very concerned Becky practically stomped her foot in frustration in front of the booth. She was hiding her worry with disapproval. How very like her.

Akira didn't respond at first as he tried to gain his bearings. Had he fallen asleep? Despite what she was saying, it had probably been for the best that he’d napped before he met with Hifumi.

"Are you okay?" Her lecture continued when he didn't answer, "Really, even if this is Yongenjaya, you could have been in trouble, leader of the Phantom Thieves or not. You know that just a few doors down there are nothing but drunks, right?" She was referring to the thirty-something bars that were further down the street in tiny sprawling back alleys. She was not wrong.

“Hey," was all he offered as a greeting as he wiped the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. "You know you don’t have to wear the uniform every time.” She had even done her hair.

Kawakami put her hands on her hips, ready to lecture him further, endlessly if need be, “I’m here as a  _ maid _ . If I didn’t, it would look like I’m showing up as your teacher. Teachers don't make house calls at eight at night."

He hadn’t thought of that actually. It made a lot more sense. He had something clever to say on the tip of his tongue, but all he managed was, “Right.”

They went upstairs. He took off his shirt and lied down in his bed on his stomach. It hadn't started out that way, but somewhere along the line, Kawakami had noticed an injury of his on his shoulder. She'd pestered him until she was cleaning it and reapplying the bandage. He'd needed it since he hadn't seen Takemi before she closed her clinic for the day, so he hadn't been able to argue against it. Him being shirtless had turned out to be a complete non-issue, however, and, until it had healed, she had massaged his back and arms without so much as a blush. It was healed now, but when he removed his shirt, she didn't say anything. From a professional standpoint, it was easier to give a massage this way anyway.

“You look completely out of it." She didn't bring up again that he'd fallen asleep downstairs. "Stealing hearts today?” she asked casually as she pressed her knuckles into his back with a twist.

Kurusu never talked about his other life moonlighting as a thief, but to Kawakami's surprise, he actually admitted to it this evening. “Yeah, for a friend. I wanted to see her tonight.”

Kawakami waited a moment, debating on how to continue the conversation. Kurusu never opened up to her. He said more with his silence at times than with his actual words. She wondered what she'd done to hear him open up this evening. No, it was probably just his exhaustion talking. She'd never actually seen him quite this out of it. Gently, she asked, “Is she okay?”

Akira didn't see the harm in sharing with her. He closed his eyes, absently grateful that he was with Kawakami and not Akechi at the moment. He didn’t stop to think why his mind had wandered in that direction.  “Her mother was pressuring her into lying. In a sense, she wanted to live through the experiences of her daughter. Hopefully, she will understand her daughter’s perspective a bit better now . . . and be more honest with her.”

Kawakami blinked. That meant he knew secrets about the mother that even the daughter didn't know. How was that possible? This time she spoke without thinking it through, “How do you manage this kind of thing?”

Akira was quiet. Kawakami had done so much for him and the thieves if he was being honest, and she had only asked about it once. Still, what she already knew was too much. He doubted whatever he explained to her would be believable anyway.

She tried not to sound disappointed, “Right, sorry. A secret. You wouldn’t tell me even if you could; you’re the kind of person that would involve as few as possible so as to not endanger anyone. Sometimes, I wish people would see you for who you really are. You carry so much on your shoulders.”

“The ones that matter do,” he said cryptically before letting out an unexpected and uncontrolled groan from the pressure she’d applied, “S-sorry.”

“I’m good at what I do,” she teased.

“You’re a kind teacher,” Kurusu smiled at the wall.

“You turned me down before; flattery will get you nowhere. I’m just . . . doing what I can to help.”

He let out a quiet groan, “Feels good.”

“Are you doing that on purpose?” she accused. 

Akira felt his cheeks warm, “No. I can’t help it.”

“Well, it does wonders for my ego to know that my skills as a maid can make the leader of the Phantom Thieves putty in my hands.”

Akira internally grinned, his mischievous side getting the best of him. “Ohh, Becky,” he purred.

Kawakami was off the bed in a second. If Akira didn’t know any better, he’d have sworn she jumped, “You stop right there, Mister!”

He chuckled and turned over, a smile on his face. Her reaction had been worth it.

She was blushing brilliantly with her un-gloved hands in fists at her side. She regarded him with blatant disapproval and rolled her eyes, “Oh, wow, you’re  _ such _ a joker.”

If she only knew.

Akira only smiled at her as he sat up and stretched, “I feel much better now, Sensei. Thank you.”

She took his shirt from the futon beside Morgana, who had woken up and was now regarding them curiously, and threw it at his face. “I’m sure you do.” 

She grabbed her things to leave, tucking her gloves in her purse and Akira put his shirt and jacket back on.

They walked downstairs together as Akira flipped through the texts on his phone.

“You’re going to see her now?” Kawakami asked, always a little nosey. 

Akira nodded, feeling rejuvenated from the massage, “Yeah. She texted me that she had news. Hopefully, it’s about her mom.”

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Akira turned around and blocked her way to the exit. His eyes smiling behind the lenses of his glasses, he asked casually, “Oh, Sensei, could you get the dishes?” Maybe she wouldn’t notice how high they’d stacked up?

“That wasn’t part of the deal, Kurusu-kun,” she would put up a fight even if they both knew she’d eventually agree.

Akira crossed his arms, appearing disappointed, “It’s  _ Master _ , Becky.”

Kawakami rolled her eyes but then smiled, “Five-thousand yen.”

Akira nearly pouted, “But you don’t even work for-”

“I hate dishes. Five-thousand yen,” she held out her hand.

Akira produced his wallet and handed over a bill, partly suspicious it would be left on the counter when he returned anyway. “Fine. Stealing money from a student,” he tsk-tsk'd.

“Stealing the breath from a teacher,” she pocketed the cash, smirked, and tsk-tsk'd right back.

“Better than your heart,” he countered.

Her voice went high-pitched as it did when she was acting as a maid, “Unlike yours, my heart is vulnerable and delicate, Master. Please be good to me.”

“Really?” he allowed himself a laugh and the smile remained on his face.

Kawakami tied the green apron around her as she looked for the rubber gloves to do the dishes, “You’re impenetrable. I bet you break hearts left and right.” She put them on when she found them, but her eyes were on him, “You’re not dating Takamaki-san or the student council president?”

“No,” his eyes widened slightly, not expecting the question. Did they look like they were dating?

“What about the girl you’re going to visit now?”

“No,” he shook his head. He actually hadn’t thought of it, though it was impossible to notice how pretty Hifumi was.

Kawakami sighed and, in a moment of wisdom true to her experience, said seriously, “I’m sure I am not the only person who has mistaken your kindness for interest.”

_ Oh. _

He hadn’t thought of that. It explained . . . a lot.

He bowed like an apologetic junior high student, only righting himself after he addressed her, “Thank you for the life lesson, Sensei.”

She responded with a playful laugh, “You should be going,  _ Master _ . I have dishes to do.”

“Thanks,” his earnest smile was enough to communicate that he was grateful for more than simply the dishes being done.

She moved a few of the dishes aside and turned on the faucet, “If I have time before I get back, I’ll make some of that coffee you showed me how to make.”

“Thank you, Sensei. It honestly does help.” His sincere response made her blush. She turned back to the sink to begin the dishes.

Akira left for Kanda.

 

* * *

 

Akechi stared at the ceiling of his one room apartment while the foreign film he’d purchased played in the background for the sixth time. 

“You want to empty your home. You want to empty your life-”

He closed his eyes as the Japanese dub droned on. Why was it playing again? Why had he turned it on for the second night in a row? He was losing Kurusu. He couldn’t decide what was worse-- that it was happening at all or that he couldn’t decide why it bothered him.

On one hand, it meant that one of the Phantom Thieves was no longer trusting him, so it would be more difficult to get close to them, to be accepted by them later.

On the other hand, it meant that Kurusu Akira didn’t want to--didn't want to . . . didn’t want to be around him . . . didn’t want to know more about him . . . didn’t want to . . . didn’t want-  _ period _ .

Fuck, why was he lying on the floor staring at the ceiling and thinking of Kurusu Akira? He’d been so exhausted today that he'd seemed barely coherent. Had the Phantom Thieves already started on a new target or was it something else?  Did any of the others even notice or care? Didn’t they realize what Kurusu did for them? He was employed in three places that Akechi knew of, he was purchasing all of their gear, he was no-

No, why did it matter? He shouldn’t be thinking of him. Why was he thinking of him? Why was this movie playing again?

He could hear laughter. The movie? No, Loki. 

The detective prince sat up and turned off the computer, shutting it closed and plunging his apartment into darkness. 

He needed to pull out the futon. He needed to sleep. 

‘ _ Sweet dreams. _ ’ was what he’d told him tonight before he’d gone to bed.

How stupid. Of course Kurusu hadn’t responded to that. He’d only been-what- teasing, playful, flir--

No, it didn’t matter. It had just been another mistake. All he did was make mistakes around Kurusu. When had that begun? He couldn’t afford it. Shido couldn’t afford it. He couldn’t afford to fail. This was his purpose.

Wasn’t it?

He needed to stop going to Leblanc. He needed to watch the movements of the Phantom Thieves using some other method even if Kurusu was presumably their leader. But how?

Akechi spread his arms and legs out, his right going beneath the small table he used as his desk and his dining room table. 

He needed to get the futon out. He needed to sleep.

‘ _ Sweet dreams. _ ’

Silence.

The way Akira had looked at him when he’d first come in--like he was  _ nothing _ . He was tired, sure, but he’d--

Laughter again.

This time, Akechi addressed it, “Shut up!” he yelled at the empty air. Loki thrived in Akechi’s current mental state. He loved every moment of it. He’d only be more delighted the more Akechi talked himself out of his mind. 

Wouldn’t that be nice though? If he’d lost his mind, he wouldn’t even know . . . he’d be ignorant to all of it. He wouldn’t have to think about Kurusu or the Phantom Thieves or Shido or the mental shutdowns or the death and the dead and the deceased and the decaying and the corpses that were rotting and the--

‘ _ Sleep. _ ’ 

Robin Hood was typically silent, but he voiced something like reason once in a great while. Akechi hated him as much as he hated Loki. 

If persona were reflections of the heart, Robin Hood was only a lie. Loki was more accurate to who he really was. Loki was more accurate to his true nature. Loki was- Loki--

‘ _ You could kill him. _ ’ he offered seductively in his ear.

And that was true; it really was. It was an option. No, it  _ would _ happen. He just had to be a bit more patient. Soon it would happen and then Akechi wouldn’t have to think about why he didn’t respond or why he was tired or why he’d begun distancing himself. You don’t have to think about the dead. They’re dead, so you can avoid them entirely if you want. They only exist in memories so-

‘ _ Please let me keep this memory--just this one. _ ’

Goro looked at the table, his eyes only seeing the underside of the laminated particle board. The laptop was closed. The movie wasn’t playing. 

Loki laughed again. 

“I’m worse, aren’t I?”

‘ _ Or better _ ,’ Loki answered.

His eyes returned to the ceiling. 

“He said, ‘ _ I like it when you’re here. _ ’”

‘ _ He doesn’t know. _ ’

Akechi nodded, agreeing. “You’re right. Not everything.” 

He took a deep breath and released it, “It would be better, you’re right. Easier . . . if he died. No, once he’s dead. Everything will be easier. Like back then, before he was here.”

When he wasn’t scared, because he knew, because he was certain, because he had no doubt that he was meant to--

‘ _ Sleep. _ ’

Akechi closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will be a while until the next update. My apologies~


	9. 10/16

Exams were soon, so Akira opted to spend the day studying with Yusuke after he’d invited him. They’d ended up at his dorm, and while he painted, Akira studied. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened until, after Yusuke took his photo with his phone while he’d been studying Physics, he opted to inquire as to just how many photos he’d taken of him and then, subsequently, sent to Akechi.

“Thirteen,” Yusuke reported before setting his phone down to pick up a paintbrush. The bristles were short and coarse but still glistened. Akira’s nose itched; he wondered what kind of painting Yusuke was working on.

“That many, huh?” He wondered what Akechi’s face looked like when he saw the texts from Yusuke. Did he smile? Did he frown? Worse, was there no reaction at all?

“Yes. I have unfortunately not had the opportunity to spend time with him. Otherwise, I would have been able to send you photos of him as well.” Yusuke looked back at his painting and, carefully, traced a smooth stroke across the thin canvas.

Akira couldn’t recall actually requesting that Yusuke do that. Had he? In another moment when he’d been teasing the detective? It hadn’t been long ago, but he couldn’t remember. More had happened in his life in the months that he'd been in Tokyo than had happened in, pretty much, his whole life, aside from the whole being wrongfully sent to juvinielle hall, of course. “Don't sweat it.”

"I'm not sweating."

Akira only smiled.

Yusuke uncharacteristically appeared to be multitasking because while he continued to move the brush across his work, he also continued the conversation, “You do want them, don’t you?” He tilted his head to the side, and the bangs that typically covered the left side of his forehead fell back in the other direction. The paintbrush was still in his hand; how he painting and having a conversation at the same time, Akira wasn’t certain. Had he acquired this new skill over the last two months, or was he just not inspired by his work currently?

Akira finally stood up and walked over to look, from behind Yusuke, at the painting he’d been working on only to notice it was only a sketch. “What are you painting?”

The artist had a paintbrush in his hand, but in front of him was actually thick paper, not canvas, and there didn't appear to be any paint on it anywhere.

“It's a masque. It's transparent, to protect the paper from taking pigment while you paint around it. Watercolor."

Akira smiled. Even though he hadn't been clear, Yusuke appeared to understand his confusion. Did he show how clueless he was when it came to art so candidly? Akira took a moment to study the subject. This was by no means abstract art. In fact, it looked as if the sketch was a plan for quite a bit of detailing. The subject looked like a persona at first glance, or perhaps, a shadow if viewed from Yusuke's perspective.

"After the trip to Kanda with you, I found myself studying some religious paintings from the Renaissance. I thought I might try my hand at angels.”

Akira tilted his head and squinted his eyes to see the light pencil strokes better. There was a figure that appeared to be wrapped in fire, adorned in thin armor and flowing fabric that didn't seem to take any shape as actual clothing. In its left hand, it was carrying a mirror. It had wings, several pairs, actually, but they looked less like the wings of angels as one would see from the biblical representations and more like those of a bird, longer, thinner. The wings, in this stage, however, looked messy and torn, broken and disjointed. He couldn't tell if it was meant to be that way or if it was just a casualty of the stage in the process; he at least knew that most pieces never ended up looking like the original sketch. “Didn’t they look particularly human around that time?”

“That is precisely why I’m using Akechi-kun as my muse.”

Akira smirked, “As an angel?” He leaned in even closer to get a better view, now only centimeters from Yusuke and clearly in his personal space; he knew he wouldn't mind. The creature, or, angel as it were, had hair that was the same length of Akechi's, but the face itself was blank with no discernible features at all--not even eyes or a nose or a mouth.

“Yes, as Azazel,” Yusuke leaned back and it caused Akira to straighten up suddenly so that Yusuke wasn’t leaning into him. Yusuke turned around to look at him, an innocent expression with thoughtful eyes.

“I’ve never heard of him,” Akira admitted behind his glasses.

Yusuke's expression didn't change as he explained, “He was a fallen angel, similar to Lucifer. He was cast out of Heaven for teaching man how to make weapons and armor for war and for teaching women deception, essentially.”

Akira listened attentively, taking a seat on Yusuke's bed as he relaxed and welcomed the further distraction from studying.

Yusuke went on, not really looking at him any longer but staring somewhere else, a place Akira couldn't see and would likely never be able to, “I find it interesting that in Islam, Christianity, and Judaism, the angels are always punished for giving man ‘knowledge’. It’s selfish of Heaven to keep it for itself, is it not?”

Akira only nodded; he never really thought about religion. But, going from what little he did know, he agreed that Yusuke had a point.

“I wonder if they aren’t more like martyrs than demons? In the texts, they’re always punished, but mankind would still be blindly complacent without them.”

Akira picked at some fuzz on his wrist and silence passed between them, white noise soft and distant from the other occupants in the building.

There was something that didn't quite add up, so he finally pressed further, gently, “So you chose Akechi?” Akira wasn’t quite making the connection there.

Finally, Yusuke's eyes met his again, and Akira allowed himself to be taken in by the intensity and sincerity with which he often conducted himself, “Indeed. He is suffering, is he not? Though, for whose sake, I’m unsure.” He stopped, shut his mouth, pressed his lips together, looked at the floor, glanced quickly at Akira, and then looked back at the floor before saying, far more softer than was necessary, “My apologies. You should be studying.”

Akira blinked.

What was that just now?

He stood up and stretched when Yusuke didn't look up again, “No, it’s fine. Actually. It’s getting late.” Yusuke’s comments had caught him off guard. Suffering? Was that accurate? If that was what Yusuke saw, what was Akira missing? On top of that, why had Yusuke acted like he'd said something he shouldn't have? That was unlike him. “How about I treat you to dinner before I head home?”

Yusuke looked back to him, completely recovered at the mention of food, “I would happily accept your kindness, Akira-kun. Thank you.”

Azazel? Akira looked back at the sketch. He didn’t ask why Yusuke hadn’t given the angel a face.

 

* * *

 

Morgana's tail moved back and forth as he stood in front of the stairs in Leblanc in Akira's way of going into the coffee shop and out of his attic of a room, “You’ve been out with Yusuke all day. You have exams tomorrow. You should rest.”

Akira shrugged, not really wanting to have this conversation, “I can’t tonight. Hifumi’s match is tonight.” He knew Morgana's incessant reminders to sleep or exercise or make infiltration tools or  _ whatever _ were all in his best interests, but his friend needed him this evening. On top of that, he'd already made his promise. Was he stretching himself too thin? Probably. But, he’d deal with the consequences later.

“It’s important that you not draw any attention to yourself." Akira hadn't expected that warning, "You can meet her tomorrow,” Morgana offered with a yawn, clearly wanting to turn in for the evening himself.

Akira crossed his arms, not defiantly, but certainly not invitingly, either, “No, I promised her I’d watch the match. It should be on around nine or so. I’ll go to sleep afterward.” He wasn't even going to attempt compromise this evening.

“Akira-”

“Morgana. I’ll be fine,” he maintained his neutral tone, but his words alone were enough of a warning. He wouldn't budge on this; Morgana was attempting to fight a battle he'd already lost.

The cat walked around him, making his way towards the bed, “Suit yourself. I’ll be here.”

Akira nodded, despite knowing Morgana wasn’t looking and made his way downstairs.

Akira walked down to see that only Akechi and Sojiro were left in Leblanc at this late hour.

_ “I trust you, Akira, but be careful.” _

Morgana wasn't with him, but he didn't have to be for Akira to hear his voice always echoing in the back of his mind like a death knell.

_ "He's suspicious." _

_ "You can't let your guard down around this guy!" _

_ “Your personal feelings are getting in the way of the reality of the situation. He may truly be the missing piece in all of this.” _

Akira felt sick to his stomach but didn’t let it show.

Luckily, before he made it to the bar, he felt his phone buzz and he pulled it out to read the text from Hifumi. It was a link to the live stream of the tournament. He responded with thanks and opened the site on his phone.

He felt Akechi’s eyes on him finally and he looked up.

Only Akechi's eyes had been directed at him, and they flit away immediately to look back at the crossword puzzle he'd been hunched over.

Akira couldn’t help his smile, even as Morgana's words repeated in his mind, as he remembered what Yusuke had said earlier that afternoon. A fallen angel. What a thought.

“Good evening, Kurusu-kun,” Goro acknowledged him politely as he walked closer.

Akira knew that tone well; he'd seen Goro on TV enough times to recognize it for what it was. He didn't deserve to be disappointed. After all, he was supposed to be keeping his distance. “Hey,” he replied as he sat down in the chair next to him and watched the loading screen on his phone anxiously.

Distance. Right.

Sojiro was already going through the motions of cleaning in the kitchen area; it would have just been awkward if he’d sat down anywhere else; it would be admitting that he was actively attempting to distance himself from Akechi.

“Brutus.”

“What?” Akira looked up from his phone to see Akechi watching him again, the pencil in his hand now being flicked absently between his fingers.

His eyes shifted back to the crossword puzzle on the counter and his fingers caught the pencil in his left hand with a sharp stop before he began to write in the katakana. “Six down. Another word for ‘ _ a traitor, particularly a friend _ ’. A ' _ Brutus _ '.”

He could have been talking to himself, but Akira knew better than that. Sit down. buckle in. Grip the harness for dear life. It's another wild ride.

“Oh,” he replied dumbly.

If Akechi was going to do this to him, he could easily retaliate. While Akechi used words as weapons, Akira used physical contact. Knowing fully well he was making the worst possible choice, he leaned in closer to Akechi to get a better view of the crossword puzzle only to instantly regret it as his senses were bombarded by Akechi himself- his scent, the feeling of his breath on his skin, the small noise he made as he was caught off-guard.

“Burns.”

“What?”

His skin.

Akira moved away, not showing how pleased he was at Akechi's expression. He was burning as well, and not anywhere near as good at hiding it.

Akira looked back at his phone, his hands still gripping it and holding it sideways waiting for the video to begin. “Four across. It’s  _ ‘Fiddling while Rome ‘burns’.' _ ”

“Oh, thank you," Akechi wrote it in, taking a long moment to hush the heat in his cheeks before speaking again, “What are you watching?” Akechi, again, only looked up from the crossword puzzle briefly before planting his eyes back down on the paper, and it was only to look at the screen.

“A shogi match.”

It finally popped up. Akira had only ever seen a live stream once; it had been news related, and he hadn't been able to really look away. This was very different because it was a professional set-up rather than some witnesses with nice cameras. The sound was off, but there was plenty of text to show the narration of the moves and the players. In all of Japan's somewhat kitschy glory, the text would flash across the screen in some kind of manga font. Maybe the tournament was just trying to appeal to a younger audience? Either way, it felt distinctly Hifumi. He was glad he was watching it even if he was struggling with the person beside him leaning in, only slightly, no more than a fistful of centimeters, to see the screen as well.

“You play shogi?”

His tone wasn’t mocking or skeptical, but rather, merely surprised. Akira wondered what the shogi type actually was. Did he actually fit the description? He’d have to ask Hifumi later.

“Yes.”

Silence. Akechi continued watching, curious, but when he said nothing else, Akira wondered if he'd lost interest or if it was his words that he'd lost.

Akira was already plummeting down at a hundred and twenty-one degrees, so he may as well go full force at a hundred kilometers an hour. “It’s a friend’s match, actually. It’ll come up soon. She plays next.” He moved the phone between them so that they could watch together. He tried to ignore Morgana's warnings in the back of his mind.

“You have a friend in a shogi tournament?” Akechi asked, his pleasant tone never slipping.

But, Akira could hear, with the way that the sentence had been worded, what he didn't say. It was always as if he was unhappy that he hadn't already known--as if he expected to already know everyone with which Akira spent his time. Akira kept his gray eyes on the screen and nodded slightly out of habit, “Yeah, she’s the one who taught me how to play.”

He left out the part that she was the only person he played with.

“ . . . I don’t know how to play,” Akechi admitted.

A hundred kilometers per hour.

Akira's eyes shot to Akechi as if pulled by a magnetic force. Relieved Akechi wasn't looking at him, but at the screen, it left him the briefest moment to study the other's expression.

Vulnerable.

Eyes downcast, longing. Lips pressed, only slightly, into eachother, as if he didn't want to admit to something and was struggling between whether it even mattered or not.

And then it was gone. Akechi's brown eyes had met his once more.

Akira offered, “It was more difficult to learn than I thought it would be.”

Akechi smiled again in the same polite way he normally did, “It’s true that everyone is always saying it’s easy to learn but difficult to master. It gets compared to chess quite often. I know how to play chess.”

Akira smiled, unable to hide a grin as he corrected him, “It’s nothing like chess.”

“Really?” Akechi's smile widened just a bit, but his mirth didn't extend into laughter.

Akira nodded.

“Could you . . . teach me how to play? Something tells me you’d be a patient mentor.”

Akira blinked, not expecting the request. Maybe Akechi had asked only expecting that he would decline?

A loop. Another loop. A corkscrew.

“Yeah.” He stipulated, “I don’t have a board though. We always use hers.”

“Oh. It would prove difficult to play without one.”

“Yeah.” Her match started and Akira shifted in his seat to hold the phone a little better, realizing why those little rings for cell phone cases were so popular now.

Akechi took a hint and went back to his work.

Silence weighed between them. A dark tunnel. It could be anything on the other side.

Hifumi wasn’t doing well.

“Looks like your friend is having trouble,” Akechi broke the silence with more interest in Hifumi, and Akira struggled between seeing it as something he should be weary of or simply just his attempt to continue the conversation between them.

Another loop.

Akira turned off the screen, pocketed his phone and stood up. “I should go, actually." there was nothing to be found in his tone, "Show support and everything.”

“Are you going to make it?” Sojiro asked. Akira wondered how long he'd been eavesdropping.

From Yongenjaya, Kanda was thirty minutes away. He should be able to make it just in time. He nodded. He knew the route well enough. “Our matches usually last an hour or so. I should be fine,” he answered him.

Click. Click. Click. The ride was over, and the car was coming to a stop.

“See you later, Akechi-kun."

“Take care, Kurusu-kun.”

They met each other with equal amounts of distance.

Akira passed behind him but before opening the door to leave, he turned around to face him again, “Oh, one more thing.”

“Yes?” Akechi waited.

“A Pyrrhic victory."

“Hm?" It was obvious that it was yet another reference to the crossword puzzle, since the name was foreign and the theme for the puzzle Akechi had been working on was ' _ Ancient Rome _ '.

“ _ A battle won at far too great a cost. _ ” Akira's eyes were translucent; anything Akechi needed to know now available.

But Akechi wasn't looking.

“I see," he was staring down at the puzzle, reading over the options, "Number twelve down.”

Akira mentally sighed and he turned back to the door, “Yeah. Pyrrhic was a Greek king who fought the Romans. He won, but at the cost of nearly his entire army, so he didn’t consider it a victory because too many lives were lost.”

“There will always be casualties in war," Akechi replied, careful but stern.

Akira nodded and ducked out, wondering what he'd been trying to say and wondering what Akechi had heard.

He was sure that whatever it was, it would probably never match up.

The night air was cool enough that when he shook off the adrenaline in his veins from the thrill ride that was Akechi Goro, no one seemed to notice at all.

 

* * *

 

 

Akechi went back to flicking his pencil around the fingers of his left hand, his brown eyes on the puzzle, but his mind in pieces.

A Pyrrhic victory. Hooooowww ironic. But, too great a cost? Was there such a thing? For what? Freedom? Revenge? A reason to live?

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Whatever. It wasn’t as if the Phantom Thief actually knew anything. He was an idiot who played at games that Goro had already won before they’d even begun. Why had that smirking bastard come down to talk to him? Why did he have to sit beside him and lean in so close that he could smell his shampoo? Why was he nothing but mixed messages?  _ He _ was the Brutus.  _ He _ was the one who acted kind only to decide to create distance between them without warning. He was betraying Goro’s trust, however little it was. Goro had actually  _ smiled _ at him. He’d even told him  _ ‘Sweet Dreams’ _ only to be ignored. And the things he’d done in his mind? Akira Kurusu had been given time, a space in his mind where he had _ thoughts _ about him-- thoughts he’d never had about anyone else before in his life. What a fucking waste it was if all Kurusu Akira wanted to do was string him along?

What the hell was he doing treating him like this? Touching his face one day and avoiding speaking to him altogether the next? Always, always pretending. 

Only Akechi was allowed to do that. Only he was allowed to pretend because he knew how to do it  _ right _ ; he knew how to do it so that no one knew. 

“Be careful, kid. He can be really dense about certain things.”

_ ‘Divine Royalty and Immortalized Love.’ _

_ ‘Aspis.’ _

_ ‘Thirteen down.’ _

Oh, Sakura had said something. Akechi needed to do a better job of remaining attentive towards him. Even if they only spoke occasionally when it was only the two of them, each of those occasions had, for the most part, been pleasant. “I’m sorry?” Sakura wasn’t one to waste time, Akechi found, and he appreciated that, because he hated wasting time, especially on people.

“Nevermind. You’re both just kids after all.” He watched as the owner of Leblanc merely shrugged and turned his back on him. It was almost time to leave, because, by now, everything had been put away. Sojiro had that look in his eyes like he was just looking for something to do. He usually ended up reading magazines or watching TV about now if Akechi stayed.

Akechi decided he would stay. After a comment like that, he felt like he was being challenged. His age had nothing to do with anything; wasn’t that apparent? Look at how far he’d come, what he’d accomplished, and his position in the police force and society! He was seventeen going on eighteen, and he’d already accomplished more than most adults did before they managed to graduate college. Calling him a ‘kid’ was insulting, but he knew better than to take it as such if it were coming from Sakura. 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Akechi was asking that Sojiro continue with whatever he was going to say. After all, if he was going to tell him to be careful, then he had to at least explain just what he was supposedly needing to be careful of. Otherwise, useless advice indeed. 

Sojiro sat in a chair behind the bar and had a newspaper, folded up in his hand as he looked over to him, “I don’t know what’s going on, but he’ll come around.”

Akechi didn’t say anything but looked at him as if he didn’t understand. He played pretend, and he was damn good at it.

He knew exactly what Sojiro was referring to, but he wouldn’t give the old man the satisfaction of him admitting that anything,  _ anything _ was going on between himself and his ward--negative or not. That was too much information, too much trust. Akechi certainly felt something towards Kurusu Akira, hatred being first and foremost, but other emotions, too, and if anyone was able to see that, it would be the only person that was consistently present when they were together. 

Even if he was merely a harmless coffee shop owner. Even if he was a shadow of what he’d once been. He was still a witness. And, Akechi knew it was best if his true self existed in as few places as possible. 

Sojiro raised an eyebrow as his customer continued to work on the crossword puzzle in silence. He gave up.

They were young; if anything, they had time.  
  


* * *

 

Kurusu had made it to the lobby of the venue. He was watching the match on his phone with his headphones in his ears. 

He was getting tired of hearing the words ‘ _ Phony Princess _ ’, but Hifumi didn’t appear to be letting it get to her as she narrated several of her moves, so he’d be sure not to bring it up once she got out. It didn’t seem like she would be proving that title to be incorrect during this match anyway; she was putting up a good fight, but even he could tell, with his few lessons from her, that this was not a battle that she would win.

A few minutes later, she lost, and it wasn’t long until she had come out to the lobby, spotted Akira, and sat down beside him in one of the cushioned lobby chairs.

“I was completely destroyed,” was how she began. She went on to berate herself further and admitting it was the first time she had forfeited a match. As she spoke, her eyes became more and more despondent and they spent more time looking at but not really seeing the designs in the carpet than they did at Akira himself, the person she was actually speaking to. Her ego had been damaged; that much was clear.

Remembering something she had said to him upon their first meeting, he reminded her that in forfeiting when she knew it was all she could do she’d made a decision befitting of a queen.

Her smile had been worth it. She was clearly pleased that he had remembered. She smiled wider with what a load off of her mind the whole match had been, and, after his words, her loss only seemed half as bad in the way her eyes ventured to meet his. It shocked Akira, at times, what effect he could have on others when he made such little effort. What did that say of their lives? Or, what did that say of the typical human relationships people formed--the bonds people forged with others? He dismissed the idea that it meant anything about him; all he did was listen most of the time, and that took little effort.

Hifumi felt conflicted because while she was sad she had lost, but she was happy that she had uncovered the truth about everything and still decided to start over with a fresh start to gain respect and recognition in her own way and by just means.

Akira felt proud of her.

“I’ve been thinking about the time we’ve had together, and . . . I don’t think I have anything else to teach you. Also, spending time with me has only caused you pain . . .”

Akira listened with a calm intensity, his eyes studying her as she spoke. Where had that come from? She honestly actually believed that? Had he not shown enough gratitude?

She had been through a lot in the last three days; she’d also just lost a match. That had to be what was influencing her decision now; it was too dramatic otherwise.

“So, this is ‘goodbye’.”

Akira turned his whole body in her direction, shaking his head, “No. We should remain friends. I want us to remain friends always.”

Hifumi's whole face went red.

Kawakami’s words echoed in his mind. _ ‘I’m sure I am not the only person who has mistaken your kindness for interest.’ _

“Wh-what do you mean? You’re just . . . saying that . . . because I just lost, right?”

No, that wasn’t right. Akira shook his head. Hifumi really was beautiful. It was effortless, like Ann. It made sense that she would be in a magazine or on TV; it wasn't necessary, but it was certainly understandable why she might attract attention even before she opened her mouth in front of a shogi board. She was objectively attractive.

“Just . . . stop.” Her blush wasn’t disappearing at all. She looked down at her hands. She couldn’t even look at him now. Her hair, despite her hair clip, fell forward across her shoulders, straight and thick, black strands always catching the light just right to shine like hair did in shampoo commercials on the train.

“I’m the Phony Princess. I lied to everyone, and yet, you still want me by your side?”

“That wasn’t your fault,” he reasoned, so gentle that he was sure he wasn't making things better in giving her the wrong idea.

“Please, tell me what you mean when you said you wanted to remain beside me.”

“That--” Beside her? He stopped speaking to consider the implications. He wanted their relationship to continue as it was now; he didn’t want to lose her, but he couldn’t imagine wanting her by his side indefinitely. But why was that? She was gorgeous, kind, a little quirky, but Akira liked that. She could be sweet and shy and then stern and confident. More than anything, she was typically passionate-- driven by a single goal.

She was his type.

But, no.

Internally, Akira panicked. He wanted to run away back to Leblanc. He could make coffee for and chat with Akechi and not have to turn down yet another amazing girl. It made him feel like an asshole every time though the alternative, a lie, he knew would be even worse. “That I want us to be friends who support each other.” The words were out before he could consider why he was actually refusing her. If she checked all the boxes, then why was he wanting to run away? And why had he specifically thought of-

"I see," she interrupted his thoughts. The shogi player looked disappointed for a long moment before she brightened up again, “ You’re saying you’ll stand by me through the good and the bad, and that’s why you don’t think we should end our friendship here.”

Akira nodded.

“I agree! Let’s carry on through thick and thin. Thank you, Akira-kun, for coming today. Your support means so much to me.”

It was clear from her smile alone how much she meant that. Her eyes sparkled, and he felt grateful that of all the people that she could have relied on, he was glad that he could be the one here. “I am happy to be here.”

She nodded and tucked hair behind her ear with the same stunning smile, “I hope I can do more to support the Phantom Thieves. And, I'll try not to take up too much of your time; you clearly have someone you love. I wouldn't want to keep you from them.”

He only smiled, blinking as confusion shaped his expression into something more thoughtful than surprised. Where had she gotten that idea?

He was terrible at keeping his secret as a Phantom Thief, but that was the only secret he was keeping. Hifumi was someone he trusted. That’s what made her different. So, then, why-

 

* * *

  
On the train ride home, Akira reviewed what had happened in his mind. He realized the brief moment in which he’d wanted to return to Leblanc . . . to Akechi . . . had actually been pretty . . . ridiculous. It wasn’t as if he’d tell Akechi about his friends. He wouldn’t tell him about his girl troubles, either. He wouldn’t talk to him about how he’d had to refuse the advances of his shogi mentor. He wouldn’t tell him about how he’d wished he’d been at the coffee shop with him rather than in that lobby in that particular moment. He wouldn't tell him the odd things Hifumi had said. He wouldn’t tell him anything, so thinking of him then, in his brief panic, had actually been quite foolish.

He had not gained that level of trust from Akechi; he likely never would. He didn’t feel comfortable sharing that information with him, either. He felt too suspicious of him to even use Hifumi’s name before he’d left.

He and Akechi were friends, at least in Akira’s eyes, but they were by no means close, and they still had a long way to go in terms of the bond they shared, so why--?

Why hadn’t Akira thought about Ryuuji or Yusuke or Morgana in that moment? Even Sojiro if he felt like he needed advice?

Why Akechi?

He frowned at the black sky outside the window of the train and crossed his arms. He wasn't an expert at restraint or deceit; he was far more comfortable in indulging his impulses and living honestly.

He wondered how much shogi boards were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like making a bunch of allusions; they're my jam. I guess I'm about the symbolism and the occasional allegory as well. I'm not sure if anyone ever actually wants any of those things explained, but well, I guess let me know if I should be including explanations or not . . . or if anyone wants them . . . or something . . .  
> OTL


	10. 10/17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Son Lux's "Easy" played on repeat the whole time I wrote this.~  
> Also, forgive my errors and forgive Goro. That boy needs therapy.

When the door to Leblanc opened, Morgana immediately made his way outside, not even casting the customer a glance.

Akira, meanwhile, said nothing in response to his departure though some evidence of guilt was still apparent in his eyes. They'd just been in an argument again. It was about Akira, once again, not taking care of himself. He'd done just fine on the exams for the day, or, at least, he felt like he had, so when Morgana had argued that he needed to get rest today and shouldn’t be working Leblanc, Akira only argued back that he had already made the commitment and he was fine and so what if he had exams if he was ready for them and so on and so on.

“Get in a fight with your cat?” Akechi asked as he watched the feline turn down the street. He was holding his briefcase, and since it was still a while before closing, that signaled to Akira that he would probably remain for a time to complete work. Was it possible that he was taking exams the same week?

“Yeah, actually."

Akechi let the door close and took his place at the counter, setting his briefcase beside him by the yellow payphone, “Wouldn’t bring him fatty tuna?” Like always, his hands were gloved. Akira wondered how he managed the combination lock on his briefcase even with gloves on.

“Yeah, something like that,” Akira waved it off, smiling a little. Did Akechi realize how close he was to the truth with that question? Maybe fatty tuna was the answer. He should get some tomorrow afternoon and bring it home as an apology.

“How was your friend?” Akechi’s voice broke his thoughts.

A friend? Oh right, they’d spoken the night before. He meant Hifumi. “The shogi player? Okay.” He realized he hadn’t used her name again. It was foolish; if Akechi really wanted to know, it wouldn’ have been difficult for him to look into the matches from last night. Akira decided to change the subject entirely,  “Hey, you got exams this week?” He moved to make coffee, now on auto-pilot.

Akechi watched him, and put his elbows on the counter, appearing more relaxed but also far more exhausted, “No, actually. I schedule them early. The school allows it . . . due to my circumstances.”

Akira noticed the pause. _Circumstances_ must have meant his side-job as a detective or something else that would probably remain a mystery as long as Akechi intended it to-- perhaps forever. “Oh, where are you gonna go next year?”

 

 

“Next year?” Akechi frowned. He hadn’t expected Kurusu to ask him about the future. Why was he pretending to be interested? It wasn’t necessary for him to make small talk with him. It was never necessary. The third day in a row. He was here. At Leblanc. With _him_. Third day in a row.

‘ _Fuck._ ’

“University?” Kurusu asked as if it made the prior question any less obtrusive or exasperating. His eyes were dense with thoughts that Akechi was certain he could list as easily as groceries.

Apples.

Milk.

Bread.

Lust.

Suspicion.

_Kindness._

Always breaking himself down to be consumed wholly by his merry band of thieves.

Or, so Goro assumed.

No, so Goro knew.

Right, Kurusu had asked him a question. Where were his eyes directed? No, not his neck. Coffee. He directed his desires there at the siphons, two of which were still going. He’d gotten here early today, hadn’t he?

“Oh, I’ll be studying law.” Casual response, go. Law sounded practical and it was most certainly vague enough that it could mean a hundred different occupations. It was an answer befitting the detective prince, Akechi Goro. Law. Million dollar smile--in place!

No one would know he found comfort in nightmares and solace in pain. Teeth so straight.

The barista looked at him a moment, blinked, and looked away to go back to making him coffee, “Where at?”

If Kurusu was anything, he was easily manipulated. Of course, Akechi hated him for the continued questions because he could tell he _knows_. Not everything, but he could see through his lie, so Akechi sprinkled in some honesty. “I don’t know yet.”

Nowhere. He’d probably be dead. Had he applied for any schools? Noooooope. He didn't have time to plan for a future that would never come--especially just as a cover.

Akira didn’t ask any more of him. It only served to anger Akechi more. If he had continued prying, he’d have hated him for pretending to care. Since he had stopped, he hated him for losing interest. What was the black-haired boy thinking?

Apples.

Milk.

Bread.

If he knew he was lying, did he pity him? Think it sad? Did his questions discontinue because he didn’t want to force Akechi to keep lying? Because that, that would be fucking rich. Kindness? A killer.

He never should have asked in the first place.

Was he still smiling?

Check.

Sometimes the detective impressed himself with how far his thoughts could fly with his perfect smile intact.

“I have to study, so I’ll be there in the booth behind you,” Akira placed the coffee order Akechi had never made in front of him, removed his apron, and walked around the bar to be seated in front of an already open notebook and a stack of textbooks. A Muji pencil case? As nondescript as Akechi’s own? Akechi quickly put everything together. Kurusu’s exams were this week; that was why he’d asked Goro about his future. Of course. Small talk.

Small talk.

“You can join me,” Akira looked up at him with a smile behind black frames.

Why did people commit to small talk? People, in public, within the confines of societal structures, especially those imposed by the culture of the Japanese, made small talk to be _polite_.

They invited people to study with them to be _polite_.

“I’m fine where . . . I . . . okay.” Akechi didn’t know why he’d agreed anyway or why his body was moving him to transfer his coffee cup to the table and slip inside the booth across from the person he’d rather see dead or at least dying or maybe just suffocating, gasping for air, desperate, desperately reaching, arms out-stretched, lunges stretching, collapsing and-

‘ _Soon._ ’

Akechi smiled back at him, genuinely content.

It served only to make Akira’s smile grow wider, his eyes capturing Akechi’s own before dropping them suddenly and falling to the brown, college ruled notebook in front of him.

Akechi savored the moment in the safety of his mind. Kurusu would look beautiful limp, hair falling from around his face, arms hanging lifelessly. His skin would be beautiful spattered with red. A dream. A nightmare. Serendipitous.

He’d make such a beautiful corpse.

Back to work. Soon enough, Akechi had his own work out in front of him, sure to hold it against the table, not on it. These were confidential police records not open to the public, of course; they certainly weren’t the plottings of a certain detective prince to take down a certain prosecutor by use of manipulative pressure and force. Palace formed? Definitely. Now, just _what_ was it? It would be best if he visited _before_ the Phantom Thieves made their way there. He needed to know what the stage was before he could set it. What a drama it would be. Friends. Sisters. A real family affair. Hearts broken. Tears shed. Blood spilled.

So pretty on Kurusu’s pale skin.

Akechi’s eyes wandered to serious, gray skies. Maybe Kurusu was just as beautiful alive.

“What are you working on?” Akira broke the silence first, because of course he would. He had to go on pretending like he gave a shit about Akechi, after all.

“I can’t really talk about it. _Confidential_ ," Akechi accented the last word with an exaggerated wink heavy in fanservice.

“Right,” a smile melted across Kurusu’s face, and Akechi tallied a point for himself. He was winning, but who was keeping track?

Apples.

Milk.

Bread.

What a simple mind. Easy enough to poison.

Laughter bubbled up inside him.

He swallowed down the sin beneath a blanket of thick, sugary coffee- syrup to soothe the sinister persona beneath his skin.

More silence.

“What are you studying?” he heard himself ask. He sounded like he was genuinely curious.

“Science. Physics. Formulas. The works.” Meanwhile, Kurusu sounded twice removed.

Knowing it was a lie, Akechi held a hand out to request to look at the notebook and Akira obliged by placing it in his waiting grip.

Akechi went through it, quiet as he checked the work, doing the math mentally in his head. He had learned how to do so much in the safety of his mind. He didn’t like to show his work. He learned a long time ago that it was best to exist in as few places as possible. Let the audience relish in the masquerade; the truth was never nearly as enticing--especially his own.

“It’s all correct. You’re doing well.” He mimicked Akira’s previous gesture and held the notebook back out to him.

Akira took it back with a small, pleased smile, “Thanks.”

“Do you even need to study?” Akechi asked.

Akira flipped over the notebook, his eyes on a new textbook as he answered, “If I want to be at the top of class, sure.”

“I did not expect that in you,” Akechi watched him rearrange the mess the Shujin student had created on the table as if he cared. Anything to keep Kurusu talking.

“My senpai won’t notice me,” Akira teased, his voice taking on that hint of mischief that Akechi had heard on more than one occasion now. Still, the words spoken with such spice made his nose itch and his eyes water and he felt allergic to the blatant flirtations by now because he had long since decided that Akria was a tease- only a tease- and only played games that he was good at losing.

“Excuse me?”

“My friend, Makoto, she’s the student council president, top of her class, all that. I think you two have met, right?” Akechi said nothing; he knew that Akira knew the answer to that. “I boasted the other day that I didn’t need to study because I made As anyway. She dared me to make it to the top of my class. I couldn’t say no.”

Akechi put down his own work, careful to place it face down, of course, because it was nothing for the public eye. Perplexed, he gave Akira his full attention, “I did not take you for someone who was so competitive.” It didn’t match with Akechi’s understanding that Akira only played games with him that he’d always ultimately lose. It was as if he was barely trying to score points in his favor. Didn’t Akira know that Akechi dominated him in every conversation? Ok, well, almost.

“I have my moments.”

Akechi watched the other’s eyelids hang heavy over silver steel, “I see.” He couldn’t look away.

“Akechi.”

The detective prince straightened suddenly. What the hell was that for? He already had his attention. 

“Yes?”

“Yusuke has been drawing you,” Kurusu remarked, though his eyes shifted left-right, left-right in their sockets as Akechi watched him study his every move.

“Oh?” Akechi remained unchanged.

Point.

“As an angel.”

An undignified snort escaped Akechi suddenly as he caught the laughter that was ready to burst forth just before it escaped.

Akira laughed both for himself and on Akechi’s behalf. It was gentle, genuine, and made his eyes sparkle behind black frames. “A fallen one. Azazel, he called him.”

Point for Akira. Or would it be Yusuke?

Goro allowed a clearly surprssed smile to show, “Really?”

He could feel Akira looking at him, at his smile, at his lips, as if he knew. Fine. Akechi would allow it.

Apples.

Milk.

Bread.

“I don’t have to make anything up concerning Yusuke.” Akira meant it with a fondness he had for his friends that would be blatant and actually quite ostracizing for anyone who existed outside his little group--like Akechi, for example.

“His choice is quite interesting,” Akechi reflected, letting his defenses down somewhat more than he typically let slip in the confines of Leblanc. Kurusu’s fault? Or was it Yusuke? Either way, he was allowing it; he still had complete control.

“How so?” Akira was still studying him shamelessly. Akechi was torn between loving the intense attention and hating it. If Kurusu was interested, then he needed to be looking at him like this _always_.

“In Paganism, Azazel is dedicated to truth and upholds justice,” Goro offered with a wave of his hand, his elbows on the table now.

For only a second, the muscles in Akira’s face tensed, his brow knit in something like suspicion, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

Still, it had been there and Akechi had seen it.

“Where do you learn these things?” Akira smiled again, this time with that cat-like mischief that came and went that made Akechi sniffle.

“It’s all case related,” he lied.

“Of course.” Akira nodded.

“It _is_ ,” Akechi insisted, misreading the other’s words.

“I believe you,” Kurusu smiled with laughter in his eyes as he sat up straighter.

Then, without making a plan or discussing it first, they both laughed. Akechi didn’t know why he was laughing, but he welcomed the release. If Kurusu was laughing, then something funny had happened; he was right to laugh, too. The boy across from him seemed pleased by it, at least.

“He’s used as a scapegoat, too,” Akechi let slip after their laughter died out.

“Really?” Genuine interest. No single second suspicion here.

“Yes,” Akechi felt himself relax even further, “literally a goat is named Azazel and the sins of the people are laid upon him before he is sacrificed.”

“I’m impressed.” More transparency.

“It’s useless knowledge,” Akechi admitted, mirroring the transparency now without realizing it. It really was. Like, really, the amount of useless knowledge in his mind was frightening; why had he learned it? Oh, right, human connections. The more he knew, the more he could connect to others. People could assume he knew them or he had some kind of connection with them because he’d understand their references, their interests. Knowledge was key when becoming skilled in adaptability, and if Akechi had learned anything during the hell that had been his life thus far, it was adapting.

“It must have been useful at one point if it was tied to a case,” Akira offered, sounding sweeter in Akechi’s mind than he likely did in reality.

Lips around smooth, red skin. Crisp. Sweet. If only he could know more.

“Hm, oh, yes.” Distracting thoughts. “Some of it, anyway,” More distracting thoughts. Was he unraveling? Did he care?

Azazel?

 _‘Azazel?’_ echoed Robin Hood.

 _‘Azazel?’_ echoed Loki.

“Akechi?”

“Hm?” He’d said his name again. Kurusu was so much more talkative today than yesterday or the day before or the day before or-

“I’m sorry.”

Akechi sat up straighter suddenly, his lips forming a smile suddenly, because he had trained himself to respond in this way when his mind drew a blank. “What? For what?” Confused? Never confused. He’d pretend he knew exactly why with his smile in place and his ego intact. Life was about surviving, after all. People who survived were never caught unaware; people who survived were always prepared, and always one step ahead.

Kurusu studied him a second longer but then looked behind him, assumedly at the door, “I just . . . I get nervous I guess.” Gray eyes wandered back and caught Akechi’s in a firm grip, “I want to be more honest with you.”

Blank.

Smile.

“Honest? You-you’re fine. I think. You-”

Turmeric.

Thyme.*

Anise.

Laughter.

_‘What would you cook with that?’_

Even his persona was skeptical.

“I’m glad we got to talk today,” Kurusu smiled.

“Of course.” Akechi tried to stifle the nagging feeling that Kurusu maybe should remain among the living. Sometimes his words were enough to breathe life into the detective prince that was always balancing between alive and undead.

‘ _I’m glad we got to talk today._ ’

That was . . . so kind.

‘ _I’m glad we got to talk today._ ’

But also probably a lie.

More laughter.

‘ _I’m glad we got to talk today._ ’

He had the opportunity to do so any other day, so of course--

‘ _I’m glad we got to talk today._ ’

It was just a lie.

“And, you, you always appear to be exuding confidence to me,” Akechi remembered he was supposed to be having a conversation with Kurusu, not one inside his own mind.

Akira shrugged, “I surprise myself with how good a liar I am at times, I guess.”

Akechi frowned, his smile gone at the flip of a switch. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Kurusu needed to die. If he went with asphyxiation then he could cut him in little pieces without any problem. The spice of life. Chew on that.

“Is it the same for you?” Kurusu asked the question. Akechi just stared back in disbelief.

Smile.

Smile.

Smile.

Check.

“I’m not sure what you’re inferring.” Kurusu was asking for too much, so Akechi gave him nothing.

Kurusu put his hands in his pockets and relaxed in the seat, slouching sluggishly. He was often nonchalant or appeared indifferent save for the rare moments he’d speak out, usually at the risk of himself but on behalf of someone else. There was nothing to be admired in the way that he held himself, and Akechi loathed how often he found himself struggling to understand just how much Kurusu really _cared_ about anything.

“That’s okay.” He looked at the door again before looking back at Akechi. Akechi assumed he was just anxious for other customers to arrive. Maybe then he wouldn't have to waste his breath on Akechi. He leaned in again, over the table and careful now, as if he was unsure of what to say or even how to say it, “You don’t--What I mean is, I’ll go first.”

“Excuse me?” Akechi was still smiling despite his confusion. No, this was wrong. Why didn’t he understand? Was Akira toying with him again? Why? Why? Why? Would it kill Kurusu to be direct?!

“I want things to change between us.”

“Kurusu-kun, you--?” He spoke to keep his lips moving but he was at a loss for words.

“You never asked why.” And like that, the part of the conversation that would haunt Akechi for some time to come was over.

He felt sick, a headache now forming in the front of his mind.

“Why what?” he tried to follow. He was used to doing all of the talking, but when Akira left him with such little direction, he had to put everything in his hands before he was left losing before he even knew the rules.

“Why Yusuke chose Azazel.”

“He told you?”

“Yeah.”

Silence. They were studying one another, both equally transparent in their attempts to read one another.

“Well then? Kurusu, are you teasing me?” Akechi smiled at him, defaulting back to his TV persona. Confident. In control. A touch flirtatious.

Akira, however, did not smile back, “He thinks you’re suffering.”

“What?”

“That’s what he said. He said he thinks you’re suffering, but he wasn’t sure why.”

Akechi wouldn't admit defeat even if within his own mind, he felt lost. Forget the grocery list; he had no point of reference to return home to.

“ . . . Interesting,” he managed, finally, unable to hide how much the accusation had unnerved him.

“Are you?” Akira asked, expression gentle, his voice a caress, and the words themselves a slap in the face.

“Am I what?”

Kurusu smiled knowingly, and Akechi felt sure he was mocking him, “Suffering?”

Defenses gone. Anger was the easiest way to get to Akechi because it was the language he was most familiar with and by far the language directed most often at himself. When the discourse in reality matched what droned on in his mind, it because too easy for him to mix the two. He rested his chin in his left hand, eyes narrow, warm embers, and he replied with natural sarcasm, “Kurusu, really?”

It earned him a genuine grin from the boy across from him. Kurusu was silent as he studied his expression, and Goro didn’t notice his own legs part beneath the table.

Goro was now back in power but at the cost of dropping his mask. How many times would they repeat this pattern?

Akira opened his mouth to speak, yet he said nothing. The detective prince can tell he has rendered him speechless now. A grin spread across his teeth, and he knew it was too malicious to be seen anywhere outside a mirror but the temptation was too demanding, too thick, too hot, too-

He watched Kurusu shift in the booth, clearly adjusting to the new presence he had found himself in. He parted his lips again. Akechi’s legs spread further without it registering.

Finally, Akira spoke, and his tone didn’t match his words at all. "You're adorable. Do you know that?"

Akechi rolled his eyes, "I'll stop." Of all the things to cut the tension, Kurusu had to call him _adorable_.

"No, go on.” Akira leaned back again and Goro felt his body follow, leaning forward to close the distance the other was creating. “Tease me to your heart's content. 'Vindictive' looks good on you."

Akechi became acutely aware of his breathing pattern. The game had escalated too quickly. He hadn’t won at all; it was still anyone’s victory.

Distracting thoughts.

Breathing and alive but gasping, squirming, and always desperate beneath his touch. Beauty decorated in red as he thrust the knife inside him and kept stabbing, stabbing, stabbing, there in the same spot as Kurusu begged him for more, to do it harder to make it hurt to free him and release him and save him from--

"Kurusu."

What expression was he wearing?

Smile?

Where?

Kurusu gave an audible gasp accented by a shaky release of air following it. His eyes were half lidded, locked under Akechi’s gaze. His lips parted but not so he could speak but instead so he could lick them, short and slow.

"Akechi."

Neither moved. Neither spoke.

Akechi could see it in his mind. He wanted this. To conquer Kurusu Akira, leader of the Phantom Thieves. He could hear that voice pleading with him to be killed, to be dominated, to be violated so thoroughly that there was no going back. He could see the black-haired boy lick his own blood from the knife he used to stab him with only to pull away and beg with bloodied lips for Akechi to finish him.

_Finish the job. I’m begging you, please._

_Akechi._

_Akechi._

_Akechi._

_Take me._

_I’m ready._

_Kill me, Goro._

Thunder, loud, vicious, and all-encompassing surrounded them suddenly and both of them sat, back straight, in their seats, their gaze finally breaking.

Kurusu spoke first, “I guess I won’t be having any more customers this evening.”

Akechi recovered with the flip of a switch though he did have to make some effort in slowing his heart. He ignored the other’s comment entirely, "What about you?”

Akira smiled, “Am I adorable? Yes.”

Akechi sniffled and felt an itch beneath him, “No. What about your interests? Do you have plans yet? For college?”

Akira shrugged and shook his head slightly, “No, not really?”

Akechi raised an eyebrow, “Ambitions?” He was at least expecting some prepared response for the many adults he was sure had asked him in his life thus far, though, he supposed he appreciated Kurusu’s honesty. At least, he did this time.

Akira looked thoughtfully into space, his eyes falling on Akechi’s empty coffee cup but clearly seeing something else. After a full minute, he finally looked up into Akechi’s unimpressed expression that had settled just short of a glare. “ . . . To find happiness?”

Akechi gave a grunt, then an amused smile, and asked, disbelievingly, “Find it? Where?”

“I guess I’ll know when I get there.”

“Kurusu,” he smirked.

“Akechi,” he mirrored.

“I’m noticing a pattern.”

They laughed then, simultaneously, and it came naturally and without thought. Goro wasn’t laughing because of social cues, but because he felt like he wanted to.

Akechi was still smiling, honest and warm, when Akira spoke again, “Before I came to Tokyo, I was--I spent some time in juvenile detention.”

Akechi tilted his head to the side, debated internally for a few seconds, and then smiled again with a single, short nod, “Yes, I knew.”

Kurusu gave his own short nod before admitting, “I figured,” and then waited a beat before he said next, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

Smile.

Check.

“Not judging me for it,” he said with a shrug.

“How do you know I didn’t judge you for it?” Akechi asked skeptically.

“I can tell.”

“Why?”

“You listen.”

“Excuse me?”

“Not many people actually listen to me. You do.”

Kurusu’s words carried intent, but whatever the intent was, Akechi couldn’t place it. He felt his headache grow worse. Laughing? No, he’d been expecting it, but no.

Kurusu relaxed and the atmosphere calmed considerably. The rain had begun to pour, but here, inside Leblanc, Akechi felt warm.

“Anyway, I had a lot of time to myself to think about the future. I have ideas on what I might want to study in college. I at least know I want to go; I like learning. But, whatever I end up doing, I’m not too worried about it  as long as I’m happy doing it.”

Akechi shook his head, his smile light and easy, “That’s not how it works. You have to decide what makes you happy and then you plan for that.”

Kurusu raised an eyebrow, his expression nothing short of incredulous, “Says the guy who doesn’t know which college he is going to next year.”

“I have plans,” he smiled back, feeling something inside him unfamiliar and warm.

“Akechi.”

The pattern. He didn’t know. He didn’t.

“ . . . Kurusu?”

Akira smiled. Akechi didn’t for a long moment but then finally, it slipped again. He was happy, somehow. That's what it was. When had that happened?

As if hearing his thoughts, Akira went on, “I think I could be happy doing anything so long as I felt like I was doing the right thing and so long as I’m surrounded by the right people.”

“It must be nice being you.” Akechi had said it without thinking. How did Kurusu do these things to him?

“Being me? But the Detective Prince is loved by so many.”

_‘He cares.’_

_‘He doesn’t.’_

_‘He sees you.’_

_‘He lies.’_

“Akechi?”

Smile?

Check!

“I hate that a part of me is jealous of you,” his expression didn’t match his words at all, and because of that, he felt Kurusu’s eyes searching him, trying to dig inside him, attempting to look through him, trespassing beyond Akechi’s walls.

Maybe, he could kill him more than once. That would be a good compromise and just as satisfying.

“Wow.” Kurusu had spoken, and Akechi heard it, but ironically enough, he wasn’t _listening_.

Akechi didn’t know what he was doing anymore. What had happened? Had his coffee been drugged? What time was it? What was he saying? Why was Kurusu so goddamned beautiful?

“I admitted that I wanted things to change. I feel like you just met me halfway.” Meanwhile, the other persona user was beaming, glowing even, practically purring with contentment.

“Don’t read into things so much,” Akechi heard himself say. He internally congratulated himself on sounding so calm as if whatever Kurusu’s purposes were had nothing to do with what Akechi was knowingly inferring.

“Akechi.”

He said his name again. No honorific attached. Again. There is a clear pleading in those three syllables. There’s something else Akira wants to say. There is something he wants to clarify and clarity is the last thing he wants.

It’ll only be something he doesn’t want to hear. It’ll only lead to disappointment. Whatever Kurusu wants or thinks he wants . . . if it has anything to do with himself, then Goro was sure that it would only end up harrowing in the end.

“Stop.”

Akechi told him everything that needed to be said in the single word. In fact, its meaning was perfect. A threat. A warning. A plea. Without another word, Akechi grabbed at his own pencil case, zipping it shut and placing it safely in his briefcase that lay open on the seat beside him. He straightened the papers and laid them flat. He closed the lid and locked it with a snap and flip of the combination lock. He could feel Akira watching him through the glare on his glasses. He didn’t look at him, though. He managed to move out of the seat and head for the door, gripping the handle only to hear one last small sound escape the other boy.

“The rain.”

Better there than here.

He pulled the door open and walked outside leaving Akira alone to his own loss of control, his own confusion, and his own desires.

Akechi had forgotten to keep score.

 

Who was winning now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hyssop thyme  
> Also, 'milk of suspicion' is a nod to the _milk scene_ in Alfred Hitchcock's "Suspicion". If you just google it, it's nifty. Basically, the wife can't drink the milk the husband brings because she is suspicious of him and believes he has poisoned it.


	11. 10/20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of this is tooootally made up and does not follow canon, so just a head's up~ /gasp fanwork making shit up :p  
> Also, not beta'd.

"Oh, Akira-kun! I didn't notice you were there." Haru stood up suddenly, planting her heels firmly in the concrete of the rooftop in front of her secret garden.

She'd mentioned she'd be here on the rooftop of Shujin Academy gardening before meeting the other thieves back at Leblanc, but she hadn't invited Akira Kurusu to join her.

Did he actually come because he just wanted to? He wanted to see  _ her _ ? Before Haru could process a blush, a voice interrupted her thoughts.

"I'm here, too!" Morgana declared, poking his head out from Akira's bag with a glint in his eyes that Haru would likely always see as distinctly human and distinctly his. 

"Hello, Morgana. Akira-kun. What brings the two of you here?" She stood up in front of the boxes and crates she was using as pots. In Tokyo, there was little space to do the gardening she’d actually like to do, but she was content to settle for this since it was something she could call her own. Her father had not funded it. No one had helped her or, truthfully, even trained her to some extent. The small space on the roof littered with plants and vegetables, too insufficient to provide any real sustenance, were exclusively hers. Even if she had a long way to go, she still gave herself credit for trying.

"We're here to see you, of course!" Morgana responded for the two of them, and, as if Akira could read his mind, he set his bag down so that Morgana could hop out and explore the garden.

"This looks impressive, Haru." The cat sniffed the air and shrank away suddenly, muscles tensing in offense, "But it smells terrible."

Haru smiled knowingly, and removed the gardening gloves she’d been wearing and sat them down beside a large, square crate, "That would be the manure, most likely."

"Manure?" Morgana quickly jumped back and shook his head quickly and disgustedly as though he’d sneezed. Haru had learned their first night together that what we lacked in facial expressions in this form, he had to make up with movements and body language. His voice conveyed his emotions quite honestly, but it didn’t change the fact that it wasn’t enough for him when his ultimate goal was to be smiling and laughing and smirking with a human’s face--not a cat’s. 

Haru squatted down and stopped herself before reaching out to pet him, knowing full well he wouldn’t appreciate it. While it was an appropriate gesture towards a cat, it wasn’t something most people did with humans. She put her weight on her heels and her hands on her knees and opted to simply smile at him instead, "It's in the fertilizer. It's pretty common as a fertilizer for plants."

"Yuck. I'm out," Morgana yawed long and slow and stretched his body out lazily before continuing, "I'll take a nap before the meeting. You better not forget me, Akira!"

Haru watched Kurusu smirk, "You're my wingman, Morgana. That's impossible."

"That's right!"

She watched them share a smile before Morgana scampered off.

As Haru stood up again, Akira turned his attention to her.

"How are you?"

"Hmm? Fine! I'm do-oh-” she stopped herself, noticing that his honest, gray eyes had darkened suddenly, his eyebrows nearly giving a twitch before rising just enough for her to notice, “. . . oh, you mean about . . . It's settling in." 

Her father. Of course Akira was asking about her father. He’d only died nine days prior. The hype was still fresh and vibrant across news sources and public screens. The house was emptied already of, not only him but all of the people who had come to investigate or say goodbyes. Nine days prior had marked a new life for Haru, and yet she had no space in her mind to devout to missing the old one.  

"Actually, there's something on my mind," she admitted.

"You can talk to me." 

Haru blinked, blushing suddenly at how quickly and smoothly he had responded. It felt so genuine; maybe he didn’t think his offer carried as much weight as she thought it did, but surely he must have noticed?

"What?” No, that wasn’t the right response, “I mean- thank you, Akira-kun." Didn’t he notice that what she’d said was true? Before the Phantom Thieves, before him, she’d had no friends.

"Of course. That's what friends are for,” he smiled at her, playful, and she couldn’t help but smile back. Of course, he noticed; his words were intentional because Kurusu Akira was a person who was as perceptive as he was kind.

"I'm so glad." She stared. 

He waited.

She realized, quite suddenly, that this was the first time they’d been alone together. Haru took a deep breath and steadied her heart that was currently demanding she regress to a blushing middle school girl rather than the young woman who had just inherited a billion dollar corporation. She had trained much of her life to hold anything in that would give others an advantage over her; she was doing her best to be more transparent with her new, and only, friends, but this--the warmth that was blossoming in her chest and causing her to feel a touch light-headed-- was not something others needed to know about, most of all the person watching her so closely now. 

"It's about . . .,” she started slowly, noticing that Akira’s brilliant gray eyes never left her, “ . . . Okumura Foods, actually. I'm the sole heir, as you know, and it's . . . everything is really difficult."

As she explained her situation, Akira listened intently, commenting here and there with both practical advice and optimistic encouragement. Haru inwardly tallied the number of times he’d said the right words-- words that made her feel not only like she could manage this, but that she could be successful in it. Nearly twenty minutes later she had lost count of every perfect sentence that he’d spoken through smiling lips.

“Thank you so much for listening to me.”

“Anytime, Haru,” he met her eyes again, and Haru nodded, speechless as her heart took to shaking rather than beating. 

She’d never felt this way-- never.

“A-”

“I wonder where Morgana went off to?” He turned away just as she was about to speak and she instinctively covered her mouth with her hand. 

What had she been about to say?

When would her heart start beating normally again? How was it possible to shake like that and still pump blood?

His back still to Haru, Akira pulled out his phone and rubbed bangs between his fingers, “Ah, we should head to Leblanc to meet the others.”

Haru sucked in air and held her breath as he turned around.

“You ready?”

She exhaled with a smile to cover her sudden discomfort, “Actually, I have to clean this up. Go ahead without me and I’ll be there soon.”

Akira blinked gray eyes behind the lenses of his glasses. “I can help.”

Haru shook her head, her curls bouncing lightly as she waved her palms in front of her, “No, no, it’s okay. I want to do it!”

“Okay,” he chuckled, “Your enthusiasm is catching. Let me help you next time?”

“That sounds wonderful. Thank you. I hope it can be helpful to our cause.”

He nodded before calling for Morgana and then turning back to him, “See you soon.”

“See you,” Haru called back as the two of them left the roof for the school stairs.

As soon as the door closed, Haru collapsed to the rooftop floor, warm cement heating her skin through her tights. She placed her palms over her tinted cheeks, feeling them continue to warm in her hands long after Akira had left.

“Am I . . . in love?”

* * *

First and foremost, Yusuke understood to be careful. Likely, he understood it better than any of the others. He understood the need to be tactful in speech and respectful in actions even more than Akira, who appeared to be so invested in the well-being of the amateur detective himself that he spoke of him frequently when they were together now.

It was obvious to Yusuke that Akira hadn't realized it yet. He had already decided not to say anything, not yet, because there were far too many 'unknowns' that he couldn’t quite make a judgment call on Akechi Goro just yet despite what some of the other Thieves believed.

However, Yusuke understood Akechi Goro on some level because there were too many signs-- signs that he, himself, could recognize. They were signs that no one else within their group of friends likely caught because, likely, none of them had experienced quite what he had growing up.

Scars of the past. 

Feeling unwanted.

Isolation.

Abuse.

That's what the signs were pointing to. 

Yusuke had always been observant, which more-so worked in his favor than anything else, but he hadn't always been in situations in which he could hone such skills and apply them. That is to say, even though Yusuke had spent some years in an alternative care institution before he was taken in with Madarame and the other pupils thus growing up alongside other children, he almost never saw them until he was older. His mother had been murdered when he was three. From then on, until he was eight, he was left alone in a back room of the city-owned facility that operated inside an old school. He'd spent roughly four years there, fluctuating from too ill to get out of bed to well enough to run around outside.

Considered unhealthy and unwell, he was never adopted or even placed anywhere temporarily. Instead, he remained secluded in a single room for quite some time until he was finally taken in by Madarame a week after he’d come to visit him on his eighth birthday. It wasn't until Madarame had found him that he'd really had a chance to see life outside the facility. Though it was obvious to him now that he had really only traded one prison for another, he was still grateful that he'd been saved from that place. He wanted to be angry with Madarame for being the person to send him there in the first place, but his feelings towards his mentor were always wavering, and since he had heard his confession, they only continued to ebb and flow like the tide that continued endlessly with an ocean that never settled.

He'd invited Akechi over. Yusuke knew that the detective would likely decline, and he'd been pleasantly surprised when he hadn't. For now, Yusuke would regard the opportunity optimistically. The two of them had never met alone together, so perhaps he could breach the subject of their somewhat similar histories and from that grow stronger bonds with one another. He was willing to do so, but it was already clear, from the way Akechi interacted with others, that he was not so willing to become closer to his peers.

A knock at the door brought Yusuke from his thoughts. When he opened the door, he saw Akechi Goro in casual clothing, a duffle bag over his shoulder and a painted smile on his face.

“Good evening, Kitagawa-kun.”

Yusuke heard the words, but they didn’t quite process. Currently, he was studying the person before him, all glowing and charming with none of the echoes of mistreatment he’d clearly been met with in his past. No, with a smile like his own, most eyes would not stray to notice the subtle part in his hair near the top of his head, which Yusuke could see with his height was scar tissue. No, with pearl white teeth gleaming, most eyes would not stray to notice that his left ear had a pinprick hole like a failed attempt at an at-home piercing. No, with the charismatic grin he wore, most eyes would not stray to notice the white line of scarred skin on his left hand that started on his index finger and disappeared into his palm. The detective wasn’t wearing gloves today. 

Goro’s smile finally wore away to thinly veiled impatience, “Were you going to let me in, Kitagawa-kun?”

“Welcome, Akechi-kun,” Yusuke finally opened the door all of the way and moved to let Akechi into his dormitory. He shared the space, which was larger than what one would expect, with another Kosei student, but his roommate was currently out of town to visit family for some kind of emergency. Yusuke had no problems with being alone, but he did actually enjoy the company of others. 

His reasons for asking Akechi over were purely art-related, however, even if it came with the added bonus that perhaps he could, in a way, be somehow useful to Akira by encouraging the amateur detective to relax enough to let others in.

Akechi politely removed his shoes, whispered a polite ‘ _ Thank you for having me _ ’, and stepped inside the space noticing immediately that, aside from the twin beds on either side of the room, the only other places to sit were in two desk chairs, one that was in front of an easel and therefore reserved for Yusuke, and one directly behind it, most surely for the model of the painting. 

“It was my understanding that we would be studying this afternoon,” Akechi was smiling, but he was far from pleased with the setup.

“Yes, that’s correct,” Yusuke closed the door to the room and walked over to the easel and canvas, taking his natural position in front of it.

Akechi set down his bag by the only other chair, his hair falling in front of his face as he bent down cleverly hiding his annoyance, “You meant that you’d be painting me . . .”

“While you studied, correct,” Yusuke didn’t see a problem.

“I see.”

“One of my professors is convinced that I need to return to perfecting the process that goes into portrait painting. I usually begin simply painting with oils, acrylics, or watercolors, and he was appalled at the discovery. I’m now required to submit photos of my sketching process before I receive full credit for my assignments.”

“It’s impressive that you can paint portraits without sketching.” Akechi complimented Yusuke without any real candor behind it.

“You think so?” Yusuke pulled out a more recent portrait he had painted of Ann from beneath his desk and handed it to the detective.

“Ah, is that Takamaki-san?” Goro’s expression was struggling to remain pleasant as he studied it.

“Correct.” Yusuke wasn’t sure why.

“Well, she is blonde,” he finally commented.

Yusuke determined that the detective’s response was not unlike his professor’s. “Yes, I more-so excel with landscapes, still life, and the abstract. However, I want to be able to convey the same human emotions of others and reflect them back as a sort of mirror to the soul.”

“Oh?” Akechi feigned interest as handed the painting back and he finally sat down, resigned that he would not be studying at a desk or even a table for that matter, and that his crossed legs would have to suffice for a flat surface for his notebook and textbook. 

Yusuke enjoyed watching the detective problem solve, but he made no mention of it. The books over his legs added more angles and shadows than he was expecting. He appreciated the challenge. “I can inspire emotions in others, yes, but capturing the emotions of others so that they can be understood by a wider audience is far more difficult. This is why I’m taking my professor's criticisms quite seriously.”

Akechi actually smiled, “I wish you luck then.”

“So you will model for me.” Yusuke held his gaze long enough to commit Akechi’s expression to memory. It made sense that Akira had found himself so captivated.

Akechi looked away after Yusuke demanded, not asked, about his services as a model, “I suspect that’s ultimately the reason why I am here.”

“Untuck your tie.”

Yusuke doesn’t catch the way Akechi’s eyebrow twitches at being told what to do. He does it anyway, and as he hovers over his textbook, it hangs from his neck, “I’ll admit, despite my popularity, I don’t believe I’ve ever been painted.”

Yusuke didn’t respond. He was concentrating on the memory.

“I may move, right?”

Yusuke moved the long, bendable neck of the desk lamp behind him to cast new shadows across his subject. Pencil in hand, he went to work. 

“I’ll be reading, then.”

  
  


A half an hour later, the artist finally made a sound, “Hmm .. .”

Akechi latched onto it, “Should I change poses?“

“No, it isn’t that,” Yusuke studied him, absently preferring if Akechi didn’t move at all. There was something else missing. He was certainly complicated to capture. It appeared that he couldn’t see each facet at one time; he could only see a single side and that really didn’t do justice to what was actually going on inside the detective’s mind. Well, most likely. Or, maybe his heart? 

“You told Kurusu that I was suffering?” 

The sharp tone in Akechi’s voice pulled Yusuke from his thoughts and his eyes darted quickly from memories to mistakes. Had he offended someone again without having realized it? No, that was wrong. This involved Kurusu. Yusuke’s eyes traveled away from the stern impatience on the brunette’s face to absent space in the room. It wasn’t wrong for him to speak to Akira. After all, they were mutual friends. It was merely concern for a--

“Kitagawa-kun.”

Yusuke moved from behind the easel so that he wasn’t looking over the canvas, “That is correct.”

Akechi closed his notebook and textbook, staring at the covers and uncrossing his legs. “You are only projecting; I know about your history due to the Phantom Thieves case.” 

Yusuke didn’t process what he was hinting at, and instead continued his own train of thought aloud as if Akechi had heard the previous half, “My hope is that Akira will help you  . . . as he has helped me.”

Akechi made a fake smile with wide eyes, “I don’t need anyone’s help.”

Yusuke genuinely reflected, “I felt the same way once.”

Akechi shook his head as his smile fizzled out, “We are not the same.” Yusuke watched as Akechi moved to tuck his belongings back in his bag, clearly making a show that he would be leaving.

Yusuke did not seem to notice the nonverbal cues, or, if he did, he ignored them,  “No, we are not, but, I can see it in you, the abuse you have endured as a child. Of course, I cannot perceive specifics, but the scars are visible to someone who has seen the same.”

Akechi stood, expression more transparent in anger than he would have ever liked; something about Kitagawa unnerved him, and he had been unprepared for the conversation to head so suddenly down this path, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you want your suffering to end?” Yusuke remained thoughtful, unaffected by the way Akechi’s muscles tensed and his gloveless hands slowly became fists like a snake preparing to strike.  

“I’m not suffering, Kitagawa-kun. Really, this is-”

“I’m sorry there isn’t more I can do.” Yusuke voiced.

Goro said nothing in return but instead opted to invite silence between them. He sat back down mechanically, considering the display he’d just put on and the error in it. He straightened his back and interlaced his fingers on his lap, staring down at them and wondering why he hadn’t invested in more pairs of gloves than the single set he wore with his detective coat. 

“There is one thing you can do.” Akechi finally voiced, his voice empty. There was no ego present in between the syllables in his speech; there was nothing in his words at all. 

“What’s that?” Yusuke didn’t hear him.

“Don’t tell him.” Akechi misunderstood the question, but either way, he voiced his single request.

Yusuke truly only wanted to help as Akira had showed him how-- whatever would help: a voice, an ear, a shoulder. “He shares the same concern as I, though, perhaps, he is more invested.” 

“There  _ is _ more you can do. Don’t. Tell. Him.” Akechi enunciated his words as if they were a threat.

However, the threat was lost entirely on the artist. “Akechi?”

“Please.” It’s clear to Yusuke that it pains the brunette to use the word even if his expression--even if his eyes- don’t match the meaning in that single word in the slightest.  

“I accept.” Yusuke stared, intrigued. It was so strange how Akechi Goro could look one way while he must have felt something else entirely. 

“Thank you,” Akechi took a deep breath and released it before finally smiling, gentle, solemn, lonely.

Yusuke’s eyes went wide and his hand moved on its own. Beautiful - transparent - the true multifaceted gem that was Akechi Goro.

He didn’t speak. Instead, his expression froze in wonder as his hand moved quickly across the canvas and his eyes shifted from his model to his work and back again every few seconds.

Goro noticed.

And then, it was gone.

Yusuke closed his eyes for a few seconds before going back to his work, once more choosing silence as their third wheel.

Ready, especially now, to take his leave, Akechi stood again, his things already packed, and walked the short distance to Yusuke, “How is the portrait coming?”

“Pretty well, actually.”

Akechi studied the sketches. There had been two canvases pressed against a single large one the entire time. “It’s Azazel?” A creature with a noose hanging from its neck hunched over a mountain of blank scriptures and scrolls on the one furthest from him. It had no face. It was bleeding in three places: from its head, its left ear, and its left hand. On the one closest to him was a portrait of himself looking rather empty with a sad smile; the expression was fine but the eyes were as empty as the face on the creature on the canvas beside it; there was literally nothing drawn there--blank. It looked as if a completely different artist had drawn the portrait, however, especially  when comparing it to the earlier portrait of Takamaki.

“They’re both you.” Yusuke replied, his pencil adding detail to Goro’s lips but nowhere near his eyes.

“As Azazel?” Goro asked.

Yusuke didn’t look up to see how Goro’s expression had changed. “No, as yourself.” 

He should have. Had Yusuke seen the red in Akechi’s eyes he would have been prepared when Akechi grabbed the canvas of the creature and broke the thing in half and, after throwing it to the floor, grabbed for the other one. He wasted no time in breaking the second one, the portrait, over his knee, wood splintering to the floor. His hands grabbed at the fabric in an attempt to rip it to shreds, but the canvas was too firmly fixed to the wood. As Akechi struggled, Yusuke moved slowly, fluidly, hands gentle as he placed them on top of Akechi’s, his fingers bonier and longer making them seem larger than they actually were as they covered Akechi’s.

It made the detective stop struggling. In fact, he froze, shocked by the intimacy and kindness suddenly thrust upon him, especially as a response to what he’d just done.

Yusuke looked up to see that Akechi’s eyes were watery glass, going wider slightly to prevent them from blinking. Indeed, Akechi’s vision was blurry and for a moment, he regretted everything and was ready to cry, apologize, and ask that he be understood, but the emotion was fleeting because only seconds of Yusuke’s hands on his pulled him from his moment of weakness. He pulled away, creating an incredible distance between them instantly.

Yusuke watched him, calm and curious as if he had been expecting Akechi snap as he had at any moment. Maybe he had.

“People are not objects. I am not an object. Neither are you.”

Instead of responding to the words, Akechi pulled his wallet from his pants pocket and withdrew several thousand yen bills forcing them into the artist’s hands, “For the canvas. My apologies for-”

“You should not run away.” Yusuke firmly held the other’s eyes. Perhaps Akechi had not heard his words? 

“I really must be going.”

“You are welcome here,” the door slammed behind the detective, “-any time.” Yusuke looked at the mess on the floor, picked up the canvas and observed it thoughtfully. Nothing had torn; only the wood had broken. His work could continue. However, only his artistry had survived the encounter. He would be unable to help Akechi now, not if he couldn’t get him to reach out to Akira. Surely Yusuke, himself, couldn’t be of any help. The artist sighed and contemplated what colors he’d have to use to capture the detective’s eyes. 

  
Akechi left, not looking back or even checking that he was headed in the right direction of the station until he was off campus and several blocks away. What was he doing? No, what had he done? No, why did he  _ care _ ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That boy is fraying at the edges.


	12. 10/24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta. Please forgive the errors. Also, I made up some stuff for Akechi's childhood that I'll either actually share as a side story or I'll just leave hints to it here and there as it comes up in his head like it does in this chapter. I'm not sure yet.

“I feel as though I could tell you anything during our conversations.”

At times life presented opportunities that made you acutely aware of how drastically your life could change depending on the choice you made.  Now was one of those opportunities.

Akira opened his dry mouth to speak, but seconds later, he pressed his lips together firmly, sure that the light from above brought a glare to his glasses.

There were two options.

He could say nothing. Akechi would go on about politics or the Phantom Thieves for just a moment more before he excused himself to leave. They’d see each other at Leblanc and he’d catch precious seconds of transparency from the detective on good days and a single flash of a fake smile before he ducked out on bad ones. They’d continue their little charade that neither of them suspected the other; they’d continue the game they’d been playing, or at this point, the war they’d been waging--always hoping the other would slip and they’d be the one to _finally know the whole truth_.

The whole thing was exhausting.

A week had passed since they’d last spoken and if he said nothing, then what progress would he have made?

This, after all, was Akechi, who, in that frustratingly desperate way, was teasing him once again with words that promised a deepening of a bond that continued to grow even when it felt like their intimacy was all for nothing. Could their relationship be labeled as a sort of rivalry at this point? That didn’t make any sense, either. They didn’t share a common goal, at least, not that Akira understood. It certainly wasn’t justice; truthfully, Akira didn’t take things that seriously. All he did was stand up for what he thought was right; that wasn’t nearly the same ideals that Akechi spoke of regardless of whether he was lying through his teeth or not. No, if anything, they felt like enemies, or, if not that extreme, false friends. He wanted so much more out of what they shared, not that he could even label what they had now, but Akechi only gave him these _words_.

He hadn’t even gotten anything more than feigned amusement when he’d come into Leblanc saying ‘ _Honey, I’m home_ ’ upon seeing him.

Akechi’s words weren’t confusing, exactly. Not empty or promising, either. Just--What was Akira supposed to _do_ with them?

He could list the number of things he knew about Akechi Goro on two hands but not even ten fingers. They’d known each other now what- five months? Any yet, and yet-

_I hate that a part of me is jealous of you._

No, at this point, there was only one option. The second option. The risky one. The honest one. Akira was through with being silent. He wasn’t wearing his mask or gloves, and he didn’t have his leather jacket with the tails that lapped at the backs of his thighs, but he’d need to channel Joker anyway. That fearlessness. That strength. That recklessness.

“Then do it,” Akira challenged, straight-faced, his words betraying his nearly blank expression. They’d met now . . . how many times outside Leblanc? At Leblanc, this had to be the ninth or tenth time they’d met, not that he was counting, and that didn’t include the quick greetings they’d exchanged on other days Goro had been there. He was likely just here to spy on him; why did he have to say things like _that_ ? Why did he have to drop his guard just long enough for others to see his vulnerabilities only to close himself off seconds later? Why was he allowed to say things like they were _destined to meet_ or he could _tell him anything_ with a face that looked like he actually meant it? Did he even realize? Did Akechi realize when he, himself, was lying or was he so caught up in playing his part that he’d lost sight of who he really was?

Akira blinked behind the lenses of his glasses. In the last week, Akira’s thoughts had been compromised. Not only had the other thieves spoken of Akechi Goro almost constantly during Phantom Thieves meetings, but the school was demanding his presence at their festival as well. He was on the news and on a number of variety shows, as always, but now, Akira couldn’t seem to let his own mind wander off the topic of the famous detective prince.

_You clearly have someone you love; I wouldn’t want to keep you from them._

Why was he remembering Hifumi’s words now?

Was this his own fault? When they’d last met, he’d decided to commit to their bond. Rather, he’d decided to take the first step in deepening it by showing trust.

Had it been the wrong choice if they were only going to just end up back here again--with Akechi saying cryptic words only to act as if they meant nothing more than common pleasantries? He had not seen Goro in seven days, not that he was counting the days, hours, precious moments inside his own mind.

In Goro’s absence, his influence had grown. Akira was invested in a way that he hadn’t been before, but what was Akechi really thinking? Did he mean anything he actually said or was all of this part of some kind of game to him?

“I’m sorry?” All color drained from Akechi’s face.

Despite where he was. Despite the poor timing. Despite that he’d be unable to take it back and start over, Akira liberated himself from the weight on his mind.

“Tell me anything. Tell me about why you’re always here. Tell me why you constantly fake your smile. Tell me why you’re always alone. Tell me why you feel like you’re a bother. Tell me why you say things like _that_ so casually and then deflect anytime I try to respond. Tell me why you don’t think about the future. Tell me everything.”

Akechi stared back at Akira, and, before Akira could think better of it, he added, “If you feel like you can tell me anything, tell me everything. _I want to know everything about you._ ”

Sojiro looked up from wiping the glass in his hand, his dark eyes wide in surprise. The regular customer from the booth in the back stared, his coffee cup frozen halfway to his lips. Akira could feel their eyes, but only one pair mattered to him.

It took only a second for Akechi to put on his mask of a pleasant smile, the one he _hadn’t_ been wearing seconds ago which had caused his honest feelings to show through briefly and gotten him into the mess he was experiencing now. When Akechi spoke, his words were even, his eyes smiling with all of the charms of a puppet on display as if everything Akira had just said had been voiced in that teasing tone of voice he reserved only for the detective, “My, my, was that a love confession? I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you string so many words together at once.”

Akira could see that Akechi’s defenses had gone up in full force. Most likely, Akechi would make a pleasant little joke of his own genuine concern and frustration.

Gray eyes turned down and Akira sighed, his whole body shrinking smaller. Akira felt like he should have seen it coming. He should have known. And yet--and yet he’d spoken anyway. He’d said too much. What was Akechi thinking? That he wasn’t being honest? That his concern wasn’t real? Did he think he was just saying these things because he was the thief and Akechi was the detective, and this only amounted to some sick cat and mouse game in the end?

Could it be that Akechi really believed that he didn’t actually want to know about Akechi Goro as a person? That his investment was wholly unnecessary? Was this something personal to him or did Akechi actually believe that no one wanted to know him on a truly personal level, because no one cared to? Or, was it that--

Akechi stood, pulling Akira from his thoughts suddenly, but then, without processing his motives, Akira stood purposefully in the way of the door, closing off Akechi’s only exit. Akira waited for a _real_ answer. He was angry, but he didn’t show it with his facial expressions. It was in his posture, his defiant eyes, and his unwillingness to let Akechi escape. He didn’t move from the doorway even as Akechi gathered his things and faced him directly.

“I’ll see you at the festival then. Perhaps we can go through the haunted house holding hands.” Akechi had to know that he wasn’t being in any way smooth by ignoring the requests from Akira altogether, but Akira did recognize that now was by no means the time or place.

In a rare display of a loss of self-control, he’d made a fool of himself in front of Sojiro and Leblanc’s guests.

“You’re coming then?” he finally asked, his voice not sounding like his own.

“Don’t harass my customers,” came Sojiro’s voice. In that moment, Akechi looked ready to hug the man in appreciation, because Akira shifted his gaze the floor, looking ashamed, pinched the fringe of his hair in silence, and moved out of the way for Goro to leave out the door of the cafe.

Akechi gave a victory grin, and Akira tried not to show how upsetting it was to see, “I’ve decided to accept the offer considering it’s such a good opportunity. See you then, Kurusu-kun.”

Not waiting for Akira to respond even as he turned around to face him, Akechi turned his sights to Sojiro and added, politely and far more honestly, “Thank you for the coffee. It was delicious.”

“Glad you liked it,” came Sojiro’s typical reply.

Akira tensed once more as Akechi’s eyes fell again to his own. “I’m glad I could see you. I’ll be going now.”

Again, without leaving Akira a chance to speak, Akechi left.

As soon as he was gone, Sojiro immediately went to scold his ward, “What was that all about? In the middle of my shop?”

Akira turned back to face Leblanc rather than the now closed door, “Doesn’t it bother you?”

The man in the back waved his coffee cup, speaking in a tone that wasn’t unfamiliar to Sojiro’s own, “You shouldn’t make enemies of powerful people, Kurusu-kun. You know he’s on TV all the time, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Akira tried not to frown; customer service could, at times, be a bitch.

Sojiro motioned for him to leave, “Go upstairs. You know better than to have outbursts in my cafe.”

“ . . .” Akira wanted to defend himself, but instead, he sighed, went silent, and headed upstairs as he was told.

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, after Akira had finally gotten the old computer he’d gotten at the thrift shop down the street to work, he headed back downstairs to face Sojiro and apologize for his outburst. No, he hadn’t yelled, but it had been enough to disturb the regular, and beyond that, it had been immature on his part for choosing that particular time and place. Looking back on it now, he felt embarrassed for having responded the way he had towards Akechi; he’d said too much.

However, he wouldn’t regret it even if nothing came out of it later.

“I want to talk about what you asked,” Sojiro spoke as he shoveled the leftover curry into a familiar to go container that would likely soon end up in Futaba’s hands. It was so like Sojiro to speak without actually looking at him; Akira knew better than to look away from him, however.

“It does,” he admitted in a way that was obvious to Akira that he was once again attempting to hide his concern with a scowl, “It does bother me. I kind of get the feeling he never had the chance to be a child.”

He waited for Sojiro to elaborate, but when he didn’t, he moved to help clean up, doing his best to not make any more eye contact than he had to. Still, he faced the adult when he spoke up, “The first time he came here, he basically said his mother committed suicide and that he had been in and out of foster care since then.”

Sojiro grunted as he began to wipe the counters down with a wet cloth, spraying the wood with a cleaning solution as he went, “Futaba told me.”

They continued working in silence, feeling only the serene atmosphere that was characteristic to Leblanc at closing time as the TV sparkled in the corner of the room on mute.

After several minutes, Sojiro spoke again, “He really seems to enjoy your company though.”

Akira immediately wanted to voice his disagreement, but he stopped, thinking better of it. Akechi didn't enjoy his company, did he? Maybe, at times, but usually, he was more concerned with learning him, wasn't he? Or, was he just telling himself that? He wanted to believe that Akechi wanted to be around him because they were friends, but that was probably wishful thinking.

He turned off the faucet and set down the dish he was washing to give Sojiro his full attention.

It worked because Sojiro finally made eye-contact with him, but instead of explaining anything, Sojiro merely turned the question back on him, “Well, doesn’t that make you happy?”

Akira played with his hair and stared at the last two glass pots in the sink. Happy? Yes. If it were true. He guessed that was what Sojiro thought. Sakura-san wasn't the kind of person to waste time with niceties; maybe, at least from an outsider looking it, it appeared that Akechi did enjoy being with Akira. He saw Akechi’s smile in his mind, heard his laughter in his memories. He’d touched his face once. He could remember the pink in Akechi’s cheeks, even as the detective had tried to hide it. That had been real, hadn't it? And, chasing those moments . . . he'd already decided he would try, hadn't he?

“Don’t sweat the small stuff, kid. He’ll be back,” Sojiro was already putting away his apron when Akira finally came back from his thoughts.

“It’s not the coffee that keeps him here, anyway.” Sojiro opened the door to exit Leblanc, Futaba’s dinner in one hand.

“What do you mean?” Was he really inferring that--

“It’s you,” Sojiro said plainly before giving one quirked eyebrow and a shake of his head before disappearing outside and letting the door close behind him.

Akira said nothing. Sojiro’s words, true or not, made him both happy and nervous. Was this a step in the right direction or was he falling into some kind of trap?

 

* * *

 

“Kitagawa-kun?” Akechi was across the alley in the laundromat when he called the artist. It was already nearing seven. He was too anxious to wait until he returned home, and he wanted a place at least out of earshot of others. Only one yellow dryer was going, and the steady hum was recognized only as a blessing to keep his telephone conversation even more private.

“Yes?”

“Did you tell him?” The detective really didn’t want to be any more specific than that. Besides, they’d discussed keeping only one secret from only one person only just four days prior.

This was a telephone conversation and Akechi’s voice was a gentle ring, but he wasn't sure how long it would remain that way. Kitagawa had already witnessed him unhinged, however briefly. It didn't mean that he would let his walls down around him from then on, but it did mean that he didn't have to be so consistent and arduous in his efforts. Afterall, based on Kitagawa's reaction, he didn't even seem to mind that Akechi was not the person he portrayed himself as.

“Tell who?”

Akechi visibly rolled his eyes at the stacked dryers and tumbling clothes in front of him despite knowing that the artist could not see him do so, “Kurusu.” In fact, it was better that Kitagawa could not; he couldn't appear rude.

“About what?”

Akechi knew better; he did.  He closed his eyes. Why had he even bothered asking in the first place? He could still see the sketch on the canvas, traced lightly, several pencil strokes coming together to form the shape of the blood pouring from his head, his ear, his hand. His blood.

_You’re still alive?_

_It won't hurt, Goro._

_Don't touch me!_

The detective crossed his right arm across his chest and, placing his gloved hand beneath his left elbow, he sighed into the phone, “Nevermind.”

The laughter. There it was again. Akechi watched the clothes tumble in circles-- a flower patterned blouse, some jeans, a bunch of socks. Someone's personal belongings were just sitting here on display.

_Head._

_Ear._

_Hand._

How annoying. No, foolish. The artist had been wrong in capturing his histories on canvas. He would say he hated him for it, but that would be too strong of a word. Yusuke Kitagawa appeared to be more interested in the piece-- more interested in his craft. Sure, he had mentioned _suffering_ and _Kurusu_ , but really, he only wanted to paint a pretty picture-- one pretty enough to move others. He could use someone else's tragic backstory. Why not his own even?

_‘I want to be able to convey the same human emotions of others and reflect them back as a sort of mirror to the soul.’_

Mirror to the soul? Akechi didn’t believe in souls. There was nothing for Yusuke to reflect back.

So that was why. That was why his face and eyes had been blank. Yusuke wasn’t able to see anything there at all.

_We are here._

Akechi rolled his eyes again. He wondered how Robin Hood could be so sentimental. How on Earth was he a part of him? He was still trying to understand the persona just as he was struggling to understand another person around him.

Akechi had managed to avoid Kurusu Akira for a whole week. Following that rainy night’s events, he’d decided it best that he see as little of the boy as possible. So long as his plans were not compromised, he could go back to his life as the smiling counterfeit detective who doubled as a corrupt politician’s faithful executioner. Living the dream.

He’d been wrong.

In Kurusu’s absence, the boy only felt closer, because without him there in front of Goro to observe and dissect and discover, he could only hope to fill in the blanks with his own imagination. By the second day, his thoughts had been consumed. By the third, he'd begun dreaming of him. It had led him to today where he’d made the conscious choice to tell him directly of his intentions to go to Shujin’s festival rather than sending a single text to the younger Nijima sister. He imagined himself a tapestry. Kurusu was pulling at his strings, slowly, but surely, unraveling him.

He needed him dead. All he could do to comfort himself was to say--

_Soon._

And wait for Loki to echo the same comfort back to him.

_Soon._

“Was there something else?” Yusuke's voice on the other end of the phone broke his thoughts, and Akechi quickly checked the length of time they'd been speaking, unaware that he'd given the other boy a near two minutes of silence while he'd been trapped inside his own thoughts. Kitagawa had at least caught on to the fact that he’d missed something. Go figure. _Something else?_

“Have you ever told anyone about your time in foster care?” No, he hadn't meant to ask that.

He could _feel_ Robin Hood smiling. He didn’t know why.

“ . . . . No. It hasn’t come up. I left it out entirely when first meeting the others.”

Goro didn't ask who the others were. He already knew, and even though Yusuke didn't know he already knew that, he didn't bother with pointing it out. There was an innocence in those words that wasn't even worth exploiting at this point. “Do you want to?” Akira’s words spoken only minutes ago had shaken him; he had been staying away from Leblanc for a reason. He should have just texted Makoto. _Damn it._

“It’s not something I enjoy remembering, though I was, in fact, quite young.” Yusuke didn't sound like he was upset exactly, but Goro's TV personality clicked into gear suddenly.

“Yeah. I mean, of course, my apologies. I shouldn’t have-” _Damn it. Damn it. Damn it._

“I can tell you,” Yusuke said, and Akechi could see the intensity of his eyes even though he wasn't there with him.

He was making another mistake, and Loki was laughing about it _again_.

“It’s fine; I’m not asking.” And, he most certainly didn’t care.

Without responding to Akechi, Yusuke began his story, “I spent most of my time alone. Since I was sickly, I was never placed in a home, so I knew that I would remain at the city facility. I was at the only facility in the Nakano ward for some time, but it was closed because it did not meet regulation, so all of us were moved to the Shibuya ward facility nearby. I believe I was six, nearly seven.” Over the phone, Yusuke’s voice was just as smooth and calm as it was in person as if he were standing in the same room when speaking. On top of that, his words were discreet, as if he were not describing his own tragic backstory. Somehow, it made Akechi feel . . . better.

“I was in the Adachi facility.”

Why had he made this phone call?

He could feel Robin Hood swell with pride somewhere inside his rib cage. He ignored it. He knew better than to believe that that was where persona lived. What a ridiculous notion.

“The whole time?”

_Of course not._

“I returned several times.”

_Head_

_Ears._

_Stomach._

_Hands._

_Heart. Heart. Heart._

Akechi read the silence as a request to continue. He bit his lip enough to draw blood and withheld a curse, swallowing it down with the taste of copper.

Loki laughed.

Akechi frowned at the spinning clothes. He needed to just hang up. He had never told anyone about his head, his ears, his hand-- his heart, never mind the scars arms or stomach, light as they were now. But, but the artist had seen some of it somehow. The artist knew, and now he was telling him even more. For what? For what? Why?

“What was Shibuya like?”

Yusuke spoke evenly, transparently, seemingly without any anger or regret. Was it what Akechi would sound like if he learned to make peace with his past? “Shibuya’s home, as they called it, was far more accommodating than Nakano’s. The children cleaned, but everything was better for it. I was quite lucky to end up there. There was enough space that I could be kept in a small room, more nearly a closet space, separate with a girl who was also unwell. She was quite weak but very kind, so we mostly kept to ourselves. She died about a month before I was taken in by Madarame.” Akechi knew what went on after Yusuke had been adopted by Madarame; it had been in his file.

“You had a friend there?” Friends? At the orphanage? He couldn't imagine Yusuke as a bully. Only bullies worked together.

“I suppose that’s what she was, yes. She wasn’t supposed to live for very long.” Only in that last sentence did Akechi finally hear a touch of sadness. Kitagawa was not unfeeling; he was, however, speaking now for the benefit of someone else-- not himself.

“What was her name?” He could vaguely remember the one time in which the children in Adachi came together-- only once. It was when one of them had died.

“Chiaki Furuta.”

He had never heard the name, but he could remember the way the children stood in a circle around the long hall that was their bedroom. He could remember a single and rare moment of silence. He hated remembering.

He hated all of it.

He regretted that there wasn’t a single person that could pay for the crimes committed against himself and the children in the city-owned facilities; _systems_ themselves did not have shadows lurking about in the metaverse.

“ . . . Thank you." The words brought Akechi back to the present, but he frowned upon hearing them. They didn't make any sense. There was a pause before the artist asked suddenly, "Akechi-kun, have you eaten at the Thai restaurant?”

Akechi saw his reflection in the dryer door blink, confused, “Thai restaurant? Which one?”

“Beside Leblanc?”

“Oh!" Of course. It had the flags outside; it was impossible to miss. There was pretty much nothing else on that street, "No, no, I haven’t.”

“We should go. I’m rather hungry.”

“Now?” Wait. What was happening?

“People should eat when they’re hungry.”

“Well, yes-” He was only stating the obvious.

“Let’s try it.”

“You like Thai food?” Not that he cared.

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve never had it?” Akechi looked around absently wishing there was something to break nearby.

“You can change that.”

“Me?” What did he even mean by that?

“That’s right. I’ll see you soon.” The line went silent.

What had just happened?

 

* * *

 

“Oh, you’re already here," Yusuke slid into the booth seat across from him. Aside from a single couple in a table on the opposite wall, they were the only two customers in the restaurant.

“Yes, I was nearby.” Technically only a few meters, but there was no need to be technical.

“At Leblanc?” Yusuke tilted his head curiously, his eyes wider to show his surprise at the mistake he had made.

“Yes.” Sure. He'd been there earlier at least. It was obvious the call had not been made inside the coffee shop though, certainly? He couldn't very well discuss what had been said concerning Kurusu right in front of Kurusu.

“I didn’t think to invite Akira. I am told I can be absent-minded at times.”

Akechi shook his head suddenly as if to shake away the expression he'd been wearing. He was annoyed again and-- oh, he'd forgotten to smile. He put the smile back on. Kitagawa was no longer speaking to him over the phone, after all. Better.

“It’s fine. Let’s order food.”

“I see. Have you eaten Thai food before?”

“Yes.” He'd been fourteen. After running away at age thirteen, he'd done what he'd needed to in order to get by. But, by the time he was fourteen, he'd already begun traversing the metaverse. He'd been able to make a small amount of money. It had been enough, anyway, to try new things. He could remember getting Khao Soi the first time he'd had Thai food. It had been too spicy, but the restaurant gave him a second portion he could eat. He'd never forget that; it was rare that adults were kind. Even if it had likely been done out of pity, he was grateful to try the new dish. Especially back then, he had never been one to say 'no' to free food after the typical Japanese platitudes. He hadn't even opened the menu yet. Would it be there?

“Akechi-kun, you should come over once more . . . to paint.” The artist had not yet opened the menu. He didn't even appear interested in it. Instead, his eyes were fixed on Akechi.

“Paint?” Akechi was not expecting the second invitation, especially after what had happened last time. Some people were so dense. He clearly wasn't a good person to be around. Why was Yusuke inviting him back?

“While my best work comes from a state of passion, at times, rage can produce equally beautiful works.”

“Rage?” Akechi blinked, pleasant but surprised, and set his mask into place-- thoughtful, contemplative, sincere. Did Kitagawa even know the meaning of rage? Well, his mother _was_ murdered. Wait, was he implying-

“I’m angry, yes, but painting wouldn’t-”

“While I just find it necessary, I’ve heard many people find it therapeutic.”

Akechi shook his head but he didn't disagree. It's not worth discussing and he had already admitted to too much. It was best that he just order food and move on with the evening as quickly as possible.

 

* * *

 

“It’s good.” Kitagawa had taken a few pictures, both of the food and Akechi, himself.

“I'm glad you like it,” Akechi replied, feeling somewhat responsible since Yusuke had literally replied to the waitress with ' _I'll have what he's having._ ' when she asked for his order.

As if the food in his stomach had helped him process the events of nearly an hour prior, the blue-haired artist asked out of nowhere, “You called earlier to ask if I had told Akira about your past?”

“Yes," Akechi responded, looking at his soup. That much had been obvious from the beginning.

Yusuke seemed to choose his words carefully as he spoke, his voice moving like water, “In truth, I know nothing aside from what you've told me yourself, but even of what I do know, I’ve shared none of it. . . . You are quite concerned that he would learn something.”

That wasn’t a question. Akechi made note and suddenly felt defensive. What was Kitagawa trying to infer? That Akechi _cared_ ? The only thing he cared about was being stopped. He had his own agenda and no one could get in the way of that-- _especially_ not Kurusu Akira. He would always remain one step ahead of him; he had to. In all transparency, his life literally depended on it. So, sure, he cared, but only in that capacity. No one was allowed to know anything about him that could be used against him. He would only allow others to see his cards if it favored his outcome in some way. As long as his victory remained inevitable, he could afford a slip-up or two. “It’s not something that would benefit anyone from knowing.” Akechi finally replied.

“Why do you insist on hiding so much of who you are?”

' _People are not objects. I am not an object. Neither are you._ '

“Excuse me?” Akechi took immediate offense to the question and realized his error directly after. He was speaking to Kitagawa Yusuke. He had no intention of attacking him clearly.

_'My hope is that Akira will help you  . . . as he has helped me.'_

“The Akechi Goro on television is quite different from the Akechi Goro who is sitting with me now, though I think this one is far more interesting.”

_'I’m sorry there isn’t more I can do.'_

“Why? Because of my tragic backstory?”

_Head._

_Arm._

_Ear._

_Stomach._

_Hand._

_Heart. Heart. Heart._

“No, because your expressions are more worthy of being painted.”

Akechi's mask slipped and he frowned, insulted, “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“I think Akira would agree with me,” Yusuke said after a sip from his glass of water.

“Why are you bringing him into this?” And now, he was annoyed.

“You mentioned him first.”

The phone conversation. Right. That had been an hour ago.

“The less I think of him, the better.”

_Soon._

_Soon._

The artist made a frame with his thumbs and index fingers so that he could see Akechi's face within his sights, “You are not very honest with yourself. It’s endearing the way your forehead wrinkles like that.”

Akechi kept his mouth shut as he set down his spoon and chopsticks and made his hands fists underneath the table in his lap.

Yusuke put his finger frame down, and said gently, “ . . . I need to apologize.”

Akechi waited, deciding that he was too exhausted to be angry. Yusuke had drained him dry of patience and energy. There was nothing left for him to do but listen.

“You gave me far too much money for the canvas, but when I went to purchase a new one, I ended up purchasing a new brush and a few more pigments on top of that. I owe you." Yusuke didn't appear genuinely apologetic, but he was certainly honest about his actions. Something told Akechi that this behavior was not out of the ordinary for him; his art was an obsession. Akechi wondered if it would be his demise one day. Isn't that what happened with an obsession? It consumed you?

“You don’t. It’s fine.” He hadn't realized he’d actually given him that much cash. He hadn't been thinking clearly at the time. All he could remember for that exact moment was the pencil lines and the emptiness.

“Come paint, then?” Yusuke asked.

Akechi sighed, his fists relaxing as he leaned his head back in defeat briefly before straightening up and meeting the other's sincere eyes, “Kitagawa-kun, you’re more stubborn than I give you credit for.”

It wasn’t a yes, but it appeared to have satisfied the blue-haired artist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for enduring the slow burn. The next chapter will be the festival~! Yay! Haunted House hand holding~!


	13. 10/25

Akira stood up as soon as Akechi turned away, “Hey, wait up.” He tried not to notice how his abrupt movement had caused the chair to screech suddenly across the floor causing all eyes to fall on him. Without meeting anyone's stare, he picked up the water bottle that had been by his feet and walked it over to Akechi all the while feeling seven pairs of eyes following him as he did.

“Wh-what?” Akechi turned around with a hand over his mouth, still struggling to remain composed despite having stolen and eaten an apparently very spicy takoyaki.

Leaving distance between them, Akira, his neutral expression remaining unchanged, held the bottle out to him, “Here, drink this.”

Akechi's eyes traveled from the bottle slowly up to Akira's glasses. Perceiving that Akechi was debating the offer, Akira turned the bottle up to insist that the detective just take the drink.

Feeling challenged, Goro grabbed the bottle and drank the water slowly. A blush began to creep up his cheeks, and Akira hid his smiling eyes behind the glare on his glasses. He had only intended to help Goro through whatever the Russian takoyaki had done to him, but the indirect kiss was a nice added bonus, especially because it was clear that Goro had noticed what he'd been tricked into almost immediately.

“Th-thank you,” he handed back the bottle which was now empty and Akira withheld a comment on that. Perhaps, if seven pairs of eyes were not studying their current interaction, he would have taken a chance, but he currently wasn't sure what would be the best move under the watchful eyes of his friends. He needed to create just a bit of distance if he was going to attempt any progress with Goro today. The discussion with his friends hadn't been exactly going anywhere prior to the maid cafe; it would be alright to leave for a minute and regroup with them later.

Feeling brave, Akira finally voiced nonchalantly, doing his best not to appear expectant or eager, “You owe me a trip through the haunted house.”

“Wh-whay?” Goro was still covering his mouth; apparently, he had yet to fully recover.

Deciding the sight was too adorable to ignore, Akira let his smile surface, and, unable to hold it in, Akira finally smirked and asked playfully, “Was that ‘what’ and ‘why’ put together?”

Akechi, rising to the challenge immediately, removed his hand from his mouth and made not too subtle fists at his sides, “Kurusu-kun, I--don’t appreciate you--”

Unable to take the weight of the others' stares, Akira grabbed for one of those fists and pulled Goro down the hall, “Let’s go."

“Ku-Kurusu-kun--” The detective fumbled, caught completely by surprise, and turned to follow him without a choice in the matter. They quickly disappeared heading up the staircase.

 

* * *

 

“What just happened?” Ryuji turned to the others as if any of them had any more clues than he did as to why Akira had left them to hang out with Akechi Goro of all people. He'd thought they were going to spend the day together as a team; watching his best friend wander off with the person they pretty much viewed as their enemy hadn't been a part of the plan at all.

Makoto blinked, still processing that Akira had literally pulled the detective away assumedly to be alone with him in the haunted house put on by her class upstairs, “Reconnaissance?”

Futaba sighed, offering what she knew freely in order to shed light on the situation, “He’s at Leblanc all of the time. I think he’s spying on Akira.”

“Have you brought this up with Akira?” Ann directed her question at Futaba but Morgana answered instead.

“I’m sure he is thinking the same thing.” He'd said at least that much the last time they'd discussed Akechi. Despite how often he was in Leblanc, however, they were probably due for another chat regarding the detective. Something seemed different now-- something different enough that Akira would leave the seven of them to spend time alone with the detective.

Ryuji tried to piece the information together, “Is it like a ‘keep your enemies closer’ kind of thing?” He could understand that much. It would make sense that Akira would stick out his neck for them; he'd already done so on more than one occasion.

“Maybe?” Futaba answered, hoping that was the idea but unable to prove it with the new evidence that had just transpired.

“Sometimes, I don’t know what he’s thinking," Makoto admitted quietly.

“He wouldn’t be Akira if that weren’t the case," Haru smiled with a subtle fondness.

Yusuke said, with a gesture of his hand, “It’s true; his mystery is a fundamental part of him.”

Ann smiled, too, having no qualms with praising Akira, “He’ll do anything for us, though; you just have to keep your faith and trust in him.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Ann-dono," Morgana purred.

"Hey! Where'd the takoyaki go?!" Ryuji erupted as his eyes laid upon the now empty tray.

"It's best eaten hot, and no one was eating it," Yusuke guiltlessly admitted.

"That doesn't mean you should eat all of it!" Ryuji reasoned with a whine.

"Yusuke probably did us a favor. It didn't even look like it was fried. I think they just microwaved it." Morgana jumped into the seat beside him to be one seat further from Ryuji and one seat closer to Ann.

Ann laughed, noticing that Morgana had traded seats, "Not that you should be eating takoyaki, Mona-chan." She scratched at the space between his ears.

"Humans eat it," he purred, completely missing his own naturally feline responses to the attention he was receiving.

Ryuji, rolling his eyes, decided that discussing Morgana's humanity was not a road they needed to go down again, "Still, share next time." Yusuke simply nodded in response, a smile in his eyes.

"We can just order another one." Haru leaned forward, eyeing the empty tray with more focus than necessary, "I am rather curious about the orange one."

Ann laughed, her grin alleviating the short tension brought by the empty stomachs around the table, "Right? Watch it not be spicy at all!"

"That guy is probably all talk," Ryuji put an arm on the now empty chair beside him, leaning lazily.

"Well, he's definitely smart," Makoto crossed her legs in her own chair, finally meeting eyes with one of the maids to call her back over to their table.

"Oh, right, you two go to the same cram school," Ryuji recalled aloud.

Maokto nodded, "Believe it or not, he had the highest score on the last practice exam."

"Another Russian takoyaki set please?" Haru ordered for them and after a response filled with ' _ nyas _ ' and ' _ chus _ ' the maid disappeared to fill the order. Haru returned to the conversation to acknowledge Makoto, "That's incredible; your cram school is by application only, right?"

"Yes . . ." she admitted, blushing slightly from Haru's thinly veiled praise.

"Tch, he probably cheated," Ryuji had no problem in arguing against the Phantom Thieves's rival, baseless or not. Frankly, he was just tired of hearing about the guy at all.

"It is good, though," Futaba said carefully, unsure if she should admit to it.

"Hmmm?" Ann looked at her thoughtfully, and soon, all of them had their eyes on their youngest member, curious when she didn't clarify herself right away.

Futaba pushed her glasses up her nose and finished her thought under the pressure of their gaze, " . . . that Akira is trying to get closer to him."

"Why?" Yusuke asked, genuinely interested to hear the other's perspective on the matter.

"I can't find anything on him." She said softly as if the conversation had suddenly become even more confidential than the open discussion of Phantom Thieves business.

"What do you mean?" Haru asked, meeting Futaba's volume.

"I don't think Akechi Goro is his real name."

Ann leaned back in her chair, "That kind of makes sense since he is a celebrity."

Makoto straightened her posture and uncrossed her legs, "That's strange though because that would mean he planned for it, right?"

"What do you mean?" Morgana asked, pawing at the air.

"That's his name everywhere . . . At the station, at the cram school, probably at his school, too." Makoto clarified.

"Yeah, it is," Futaba confirmed.

"So wait, you mean that he changed his name  _ before _ he got popular?" Ann summarized.

"Should we really be leaving our leader alone with him?" Morgana couldn't frown in his cat form, but he could lower his head and squint his eyes in suspicion.

"We can trust Akira," Ann reminded them.

Without a word, Futaba and Morgana exchanged looks.

 

* * *

 

Akira hadn’t let Akechi's hand go. Somewhere along the stairs, Akechi had unclenched his fist and Akira's hand had moved to hold his properly. Akechi hadn’t responded in any way to the touch. His hand didn’t close around Akira’s own and his facial expression was a fabricated mask of a smile. When they stopped in front of a third-year classroom, Akira turned to study the other's profile. They were outside Leblanc, so he wasn't expecting much out of Akechi in terms of honesty since any time, at least recently, that Akechi had been transparent with him it had been while sharing company at the coffee shop. Still, if he could get him alone, say, into the haunted house they were presently standing in front of, then maybe, just maybe, he could speak to Akechi without all of the false pretenses and lies. He needed to clear the air about what he’d said yesterday. Maybe Akechi didn’t need to hear it, but Akira needed to say it.

“ _ I’m not going anywhere _ ,” Akechi finally broke the silence in a hushed whipser, stretching his left hand in a non-verbal request for Akira to  _ let go _ . His tone had been charming, light, and airy, and his expression was hand-picked to match, but the way his fingers flexed finally registered to Akira that it had made him uncomfortable.

Regretfully, Akira finally let go, saying nothing of his actions. Some part of him felt guilty, but he pushed the thought to the back of his mind. He couldn't afford anything holding him back.

“What is this?” Akechi asked, taking his detective pose with a hand to his chin.

Clearly, it was a haunted house, so Akira didn't respond to the question and instead opted for a more important focus, “Are you alright?” He mentally cursed; his tone had been far too serious, and his embarrassment played out as he fiddled with his bangs.

Akechi would have been more than content to just forget about all that had happened in the last five minutes, but he knew it would be better to shut Akira up by addressing his concerns before moving on, “The takoyaki? Yes. Yes, the drink helped. Thank you.”

Akira kept his laughter behind a smile. The blush on Akechi's cheeks was gone, but it would never be forgotten. Akira stored the image in the back of his mind along with the rest of  _ Akechi Goro Expressions _ he'd collected in the last month or two.

Akechi saw right through him and demonstrated his full recovery with a charming and rehearsed wink, “It’s true; I was taught a lesson: never trust the food prepared by the students of Shujin Academy.”

That wasn’t the right lesson by any means but Akira kept that to himself.

“You two are next?” a third-year that Akira had seen around before with brown hair and a pretty smile motioned for them to come to the entrance of the classroom. Closer now, they could hear eerie music coming from the classroom along with the shouts and screams of students already inside. The windows had been covered and people were exiting out the other side of the classroom, so it was safe to assume that the haunted house was some kind of maze.

“Oh." Realization dawned on the detective; his joke had backfired on him. Akira pulled him closer to the entryway so that the pretty third-year could prepare them for their voyage into the unknown. He'd hoped that his behavior at Leblanc the day before hadn't affected their relationship too deeply. Akechi appeared to be treating him no differently than he had before. Granted, they hadn't really been given the opportunity to talk anyway. After reviewing a few safety precautions, the third-year produced a red cord.

“What’s this?” Akechi inquired as she eyed them patiently.

Noticing they hadn't seen the sign beside her which showed two stick figures with their hands tied together by a red string, she motioned to it with a friendly smile, “For this haunted house, we tie your hands together.”

Without warning, Akira reached for Akechi's hand once more.

“Well, fine,” Akechi sighed, clearly displaying his unwillingness to agree to something so foolish. He didn't pull away and actually put his fingers around Akira's despite his tone and his expression because the detective prince was known for many things, but being disagreeable was not one of them--neither was breaking the rules.

As the two held hands, Akechi's left tied to Akira's right, she tied the red cord around their wrists, binding them together with a knotted bow, "You must remain tied together on your journey through the Haunted Maze! If you do, you'll be destined to be best friends forever!"

Akira cracked a smile and Akechi painted on his pleasant expression with a nod, "Thank you for your help."

"One more thing," the third-year handed Akira a hundred yen flashlight. It was small and barely emitted anything, but it would do to see the floor inside at the very least. "You may use this light to guide the way, but remember, it is the strength of your bond that determines whether or not you will emerge on the other side as champions!"

"Ready!" another third-year called from the exit as a boy and girl emerged from the exit cheering that their wrists were still tied.

"Got it!" the pretty third-year yelled back and turned her attention back to Akechi and Akira, "Good luck!" She held up the curtain and they walked inside together. The hallway before them was long and dark, with nothing much to see but black sheets on either side. Akira knocked his left knuckles against the wall to test how sturdy they were, and he was impressed to hear a firm wood just past the black sheet. They had probably worked together with the theater department and used flats in order to create the maze. Without a word, the curtain shut behind them and the only light source became the small flashlight in Akira's hand. He pointed it in front of them immediately so that they could see where they were going.

"It's impressive how dark they've been able to make it," Akechi observed in a tone as emptily pleasant as per usual.

Akira only nodded without concern for whether or not Akechi actually noticed it. He was too busy feeling the warmth of Akechi's hands through the detective's gloves and wishing he didn't have to imagine even now what they actually felt like. He wanted to feel the callouses on Akechi's hand. If he was left-handed, for example, then there would likely have been callouses on the inside of his index finger where he held pens and pencils. Maybe there would be more just below his fingers at the top of his palm where he gripped his briefcase or maybe the train handles, or-no, hadn't he mentioned that he liked cycling at some point? As Akira pondered the possibilities, he felt Akechi let go of his hand, his fingers stretching out again at a silent request for freedom. 

"Kurusu-kun, move the light so I can untie us."

Akira felt Akechi pull away and he obliged and noticed the loss of warmth in his right hand immediately.

"What?" he asked dumbly. Had he heard the other correctly? Did he want to remove the cord?

"Give me the flashlight," Akechi made his demand with the tone someone might use to coax a child out of holding on to their favorite blanket.

The tone alone, regardless of the request, only ignited a flame within the leader of the Phantom Thieves. Basically, Akechi was demanding control and Akira wasn't about to give it to him.

"It's okay; I've got it," and he took Goro's hand back in his easily, "And, you promised me this, so don't even think about going back on your word." His tone was playful, but his grip was solid. He had no intention of making it through the maze with a cord that had been undone. Destiny was on the line, after all, not that he believed in that sort of thing in the slightest.

He just wanted--

What?

‘ _ I want to know everything about you. _ ’

And that was why--

"It was a jo-" At the end of the hall, the flashlight illuminated a crude molten mask that looked like a human face had been melted down to the bone. It hung on the wall and dripped wet with red paint. Akechi regained his ability to speak but his prior train of thought had been long forgotten, "I honestly wasn't expecting something so gruesome in a high school haunted house."

"Kids these days," Akira teased.

Akechi sighed, noticing that there was a path both to the left and to the right. "Let's go left. That was the direction of the other classroom door, the exit. The sooner we're out of here, the better."

Akira took note that his tone didn't match his words-- like a smiling robot threatening your impending doom. Still, his words sounded more like the Akechi he'd caught glimpses of back at Leblanc. "You're so eager to leave, detective? I didn't expect you'd scare so easily."

"Please, I just want to be on my way, thank you."

They turned the corner, and the light found its way to the end of a shorter hallway. At its end, a large box on the floor sat still and unassuming. Despite, once again, this being a high school haunted house, Akira was impressed by the atmosphere and simple effects that lent to the eeriness of the maze. "Then you'll be fine opening that box at the end of the hall for us?"

"Sure, fine," Akechi stepped ahead, but of course, with them being tied together, Akira followed a step behind, keeping the light on the box. It shook suddenly, proving there was something inside. "Come now," Akechi voiced just as the lid flew back, a pale, thin arm reached out, and a croaking noise sounded from inside. Akechi took a step back.

In the darkness, Akira smiled. The hand reached over the side, and, slowly, a girl with long hair in a tattered Shujin uniform crawled out of it. "I don't think this is the right way," he ventured, pulling Akechi further back toward the melted face in the first hallway.

The light from their flashlight lingered a moment more as the girl, limping and still croaking inhumanely like she was trying to speak but something was lodged in her throat, began to walk towards them. "I couldn't agree more. Let's--Wh-what?!" She lunged for the cord and Akechi ducked suddenly to his knees and moved around Kurusu to turn him around. Without waiting for the flashlight to catch up with his movements, Akechi took the lead to pull them away and lead them back the way they came.

Akira was still trying to catch up with what he'd just witnessed, his heart now pumping adrenaline he was used to only experiencing inside a palace while donning a mask. Akechi was quick, incredibly ao, and he hadn't expected to see something like that inside a haunted house at a school festival. "Nice skills." he complimented, but then added, hoping to start their typical banter they only seemed to achieve inside the walls of Leblanc, "Thank you for keeping our bond strong."

"Don't misunderstand," was the curt reply Akira received in response.

Without thinking, Akira flashed the light in Goro's direction only to see that he wasn't smiling at all, and instead of the smirk Akira was hoping to see, he was halfway to a scowl when Akechi moved their tied wrists together to shield his eyes from the light, "I can't see where we're going."

Akira corrected his error immediately and they quickly made it back the way they had come from and turned right instead. Ahead of them was a hallway full of fake cobwebs with ropes and string hanging from the ceiling. It was so thick that they couldn't see past it.

Before Akira could formulate a plan, Akechi stepped forward, "I'll lead the way, Kurusu-kun."

A croaking noise sounded right behind them. Akira spun the flashlight around to see that the Shujin girl from the box had followed them. Her skin had been painted a pale gray and white and her hair was long and wet in front of her face as her hands reached blindly for the cord tying their wrists.

"Let's go, Kurusu."

Akira shined the light on the rope hallway and Akechi pulled them forward, suspiciously avoiding any sort of eye contact with Akira.

Kurusu followed, their wrists still tied together. As they made it through the rope hallway, the eerie music got louder and the croaking finally came to a stop. He wanted to reach again for Akechi's hand, but it no longer felt appropriate. It wasn't that either of them were scared, per-se, but Akechi certainly didn't appear to be in the mood for his attempts to get a rise out of him, or, more plainly put his  _ tricks _ .

They stopped when they came to a hall with three doors. Each of them looked the same, gray and dull like they were unfinished and waiting. There were lights above each of them, the kind you could touch to turn off and on. While it wasn't bright, it was certainly better than anything they'd seen so far.

As if his mask had been properly replaced, Akechi's voice matched the typical pleasant ring Akira was all too familiar with, "This is a rather elaborate maze."

Akira reminded himself to keep the light pointed ahead of them rather than pointing it at Akechi. He shrugged and tried not to notice that their knuckles were still knocking against each other. Even if they weren't holding hands, Akechi still felt warm in just this small contact. "This is a private academy; I guess they have the money for it."

"It is always best to take the most obvious choice, the one in our direct path, which is the middle one because when-"

Akira cut off his detective analysis with a smirk, "Or, we could open all three."

Akechi snorted, "Well, I suppose we could but, what if--" and it was just the sort of familiar cue Akira was waiting for.

Akira switched hands for the flashlight, and, with his left, reached for the doorknob on the left and opened it quickly. Without even looking behind it, he then reached for the knob in front of them, and then finally, not even a second later, he opened the door on the end. 

"Really, Kurusu . . . ," Akechi sighed and pulled them far enough away to see what was behind all three doors at once.

The door on the far left was only a wall that appeared to be covered in blood with several sets of hands and scratches on it. Akira absently wondered how they made the paint look wet throughout the day. Behind the middle door was a wire fence, so no one could get past it to the small closet sized room that was lit to show a bloodied Shujin student behind it. He was handcuffed to a desk and moaning softly about homework with textbooks piled over his legs. Grim. Finally, the room all the way to the right was just a black room. No light was coming from it. There didn't appear to be a way out of it, but between the options of a literal wall, an iron fence, and a room, only one could actually be entered into.

"You were saying about obvious choices?" Akira closed the other two doors, silently hoping it would get the Shujin student to stop moaning. It was creepy, and, to his relief, th student went silent when the door closed.

"Let's go," Akechi agreed.

As soon as they both walked into the room behind door number three, a wire-tripped and the door slammed closed. Genuinely startled, Akira dropped the flashlight, and, after the light flickered a few times, they suddenly found themselves in total darkness.

Expecting some remark about him dropping the flashlight, Akira's eyes widened in the darkness when he felt Akechi's left hand dip around his right and wrap around it to hold his hand tightly. Aside from that, Akechi didn't move, however, and after several seconds of silence between them, Akira knew something was wrong.

"Akechi, do you--"

"Please find the flashlight."

Without a doubt something was wrong, and it was tied to the darkness they had now found themselves in. Akira knelt down and reached around the floor with his left hand as his right was still in a fierce grip with Akechi's left. Attempting to lighten the mood, Akira tried teasing, "If you're scared of the dark, I could hold you."

"I'm not."

Akira paled. That had been the wrong choice. Akechi's voice quivered in a way Akira hadn't heard before, but it wasn't a pleasant fake or a sinful treat; it was fear. Akira's search for the flashlight quickened. The sooner Akechi was out of this situation, the one Akira, himself, had put him in, the better.

Akira activated his third eye. When something scraped the bottom of the floor suddenly,  Akira reached in the direction of the sound only to feel something soft and warm before it disappeared into the wall. Flesh.

"I think someone just took the flashlight."

Akechi didn't say anything but he did move, touching the wall all of the way around him with his free hand. "Try the door."

Akira found the knob easily with his third eye and said gently, "It's locked."

"I don't understand. There are walls all the way around. Is this a joke to you?" Despite his harsh accusation, Akechi's grip on his hand tightened.

"No," Akira continued to search with his third eye until there-- he found it. From the floor to about three feet up there was an opening in the wall with only black sheets covering it. Were they supposed to crawl out? This simple school festival maze was beginning to feel more and more like a palace. Who had designed this?

Akira stood up, noticing the Akechi had gone still and quiet, "Akechi-kun?"

Akechi didn't respond.

"Akechi?" With his third eye, Akira could only make out the outline of the detective prince in front of him. It was enough for him to be able to reach out his free hand and gently touch his shoulder, "Hey, Akechi, there's a way out, but it looks like we have to crawl underneath this wall." When Akechi didn't say anything still, Akira pulled their hands together down to the opening beside them, making sure the back of Akechi's hand felt the sheets behind the opening.

Akira heard the detective release a breath and Akechi's grip on his hand went lax. Without words, they maneuvered underneath the wall and into the next hallway.

Akira was expecting some kind of formal apology, but when Akechi didn't give one, he smiled. It was better that way. Somehow, the absence of an apology for his tone felt more honest. Still, Akira wasn't sure what had happened in the room they'd just escaped. Was it the darkness or the space they'd been confined to? Was Akechi claustrophobic?

Ahead of them, several paper mache arms suck out from the wall. There were red lights trailing the ceiling, and a single white light appeared to be coming from further down the hallway.

Akira realized Akechi hadn't let go of his hand, but he kept the smile to himself. He wouldn't embarrass him about whatever had just happened, so, as they walked together while maneuvering around the arms, Akira finally took the silence between them as an opportunity to bring up yesterday's incident.

“I’m sorry . . . for yesterday,” he said slowly.

Akechi's silence told Akira that he had likely never expected an apology, and when he let go of his hand, Akira didn't remain stubborn in taking it back. He must have angered him yesterday. Akira bit his lip under the red light. He hadn't meant to anger him. He was just tired of being toyed with.

‘ _ I want to know everything about you. _ ’

And then it dawned on him; maybe Akechi was, too.

Akechi's voice was detached, and, most likely, far softer than he'd meant it to be, “Sometimes, we get confused.” Akechi pushed aside another paper mache arm as he walked forward.

“I meant what I said,” Akira responded, turning to look at Akechi in the red light. He didn’t want to play games with Akechi, at least, not when it came to whatever their relationship was-- not when it came to their feelings.

Akechi's eyes met his, and the two of them met each other's gaze with a stare that wasn't unfamiliar to either of them. Too many times they appeared to have captured one another with their eyes. Akira wasn't sure how Akechi interpreted it, but to Akira, he was only ever searching. He knew it wasn't the same for Akechi, however, who only appeared to be present for the challenge. Akechi tilted his head slightly and ran his free hand through his hair. Having accomplished nothing with the gesture, his bangs fell back in place and he took on a calculated tone that was neither honest nor pleasant, “You just . . . caught me off guard.”

Akira caught his gaze again, his eyes searching as he struggled to see in the red light. Channeling the adrenaline from moments ago, he pulled his hand away from Akechi's only to press his palm flat against his, catching his fingers between his and interlacing their fingers together. ‘ _ And now? _ ’ was unsaid.

Akechi closed his eyes and relented. Akira felt him close his fingers over his hand. He kept his mouth shut. It had gotten him into trouble yesterday and today. For now, it would be best to just enjoy the silence in the moment. Akechi’s hand was warm and something about the moment felt  _ sweet _ . Akira hadn’t expected that. 

‘ _ Tell me why you’re always alone. _ ’

Akechi opened his eyes, but he refused to meet Akira's own. He wasn't smiling or smirking or challenging or questioning, but he wasn't letting go, either. Akira felt his own heartbeat quicken as a warmth rose to his cheeks. Why was he blushing? He wanted to get closer to Akechi to know him, not to--

“Kurusu, you shouldn’t  . . . touch me like--”

“I’m not touching you. Wh--!”

Akechi turned suddenly and Akira was pulled backward to see that three pairs of arms were actually real and moving, fingers outstretched to touch and feel blindly for those that passed through.

"The flashlight," seemingly recovered from the last room, Akechi ducked beneath the arms and reached for the small light that was in the grasp of one of the hands reaching down from the ceiling. The hand released it easily, and soon, the two of them were headed down another hallway into a large room with no lights save for a few scattered on the floor.

With Akechi directing the light of the flashlight, Akira finally realized how powerless it felt to be without it. On either side of the room, there were Shujin students sitting at desks, three on their left and three on their right. All of them had the same painted gray skin as the student from the box had, but instead of wet hair to cover their face, they all had white paper bags over their heads. None of them moved.

Akechi shined the light straight ahead. There was a sign that said ' _ Exit _ ' in English with an arrow pointed at the end.

"We just have to walk through here to get to the end," Akechi spoke in his clinical detective voice, his light shining on each of the students, "Most likely, one of them will either move or will reach out to take the thread or light. Earlier, a lot of screams were coming from the far side of the classroom near the exit, which is where we should be by now. Like the first student, they will probably try to separate us."

"What should we do, detective?" Akira asked with a smile. Akechi still hadn't let go of his hand up to now, so he was happy to follow Akechi's direction without complaint.

Akira watched the flashlight illuminate the space around the black walls, "Well, there is no trick in any of the walls, and the space behind the students is not wide enough for both of us. Our best option is to just walk straight to the exit. Whatever happens, just keep walking."

"Got it."

With that, they walked forward together, albeit, a lot more slowly than Akira imagined. On their right, one female Shujin student fell out of her hair which made him jump even if he knew something like that would be coming. Just as Akechi turned the light to watch her, a student on the right stood up, knocking their chair down behind them.

"Just go!" Akechi didn't wait to see what the last two would do and pulled Akira towards the exit quickly. Without realizing it, they had broken into a run, and, after a final dark hallway with nothing left to see, they reached the end.

“Hey, you guys were supposed to walk," the third-year who had been manning the exit whined as he pulled back the curtain and took the flashlight from Akechi. “Ready!” he yelled behind him to the third-year at the entrance.

“M-my apologies,” Akechi replied politely.

Kurusu felt Akechi let go of his hand and Akira regretfully did the same. The third-year pulled the ribbon loose that was binding their wrists together and handed it to Akira.

"Congratulations! You made it out. You can keep this to remind you of your strong bond!"

Akira nodded and tucked into his pants pocket.

As they walked away, both silently catching their breath and stilling their hearts, Akira chuckled just enough to lighten the mood, “Thank you for keeping your promise, Akechi-kun.”

“I--You--" the detective started, his expression unreadable, "You know what, fine. Fine. You’re welcome.” His face settled on another plastered smile but Akira knew better.

For what felt like the hundredth time, Akira's gray eyes searched Akechi's. He could never quite pinpoint the color of Akechi's eyes. Hazel? Brown? Red? A mix of something wild and soft.

Silence passed between them before Akechi finally opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and then, finally, looked away.

Somehow, Akira understood. Too much. Too much had happened in the span of a mere fifteen minutes. They were both simply . . . exhausted. Akira wondered if his own presence was as exhilarating and exhausting as Akechi’s was for him.

“I have to meet back up with the others,” Akira broke their silence.

“Tomorrow then," Akechi smiled again.

“Yeah,” Akira nodded, and, without ceremony, they went their separate ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter would have been SO DIFFERENT from Akechi's POV; he was really all over the place. It was really hard to keep that part out.   
> Also, not to worry, self-awareness is coming to an Akira near you. :p  
> OTL Part 2 of the festival coming soon~  
> Thank you for kind comments and kudos~!


	14. 10/26

As soon as Akechi had reached his apartment after the meeting with Shido that had interrupted his interview at Shujin High, he ran the short distance to the bathroom, threw open the door, and felt his whole body heaved as he released his stress and his lunch into the toilet. As he bent down over the lavatory, honey-colored hair fell forward around his face and he reached quickly to pull his bangs and hair back. Too late. As he continued to empty his stomach, he felt the warm liquid on the back of his neck.

_ Fuck. _

A shower was in order. His whole body ached as he continued to vomit what little he'd consumed that day-- a pastry from that morning and rice from an onigiri he'd picked up at the 7-11 before lunch. All of it splashed down into the water below causing the scent to float up and sting his nostrils and quickly permeate the room.

He'd succeeded. He'd succeeded in blackmailing the Phantom Thieves into allowing him to join them but--

‘ _ A reporter is getting too close. Murakami’s partner? Deal with it. _ ’

Akechi flushed the toilet quickly and began to undress as he reviewed what had transpired earlier in the day. The Shujin panel. Confronting the Thieves. Being called into Shido’s office. He’d manipulated, lied so flawlessly in the picture of perfection and he was rewarded for it with another name on the list. Akechi quickly cleaned up his mess and flushed the toilet again. He’d managed to look all of them in the eyes, even him, even  _ him _ , and not even give a second thought as he claimed that he’d just gotten the app a month ago, that he’d nearly been a victim to the black-masked figure, that he’d-- _ he’d _ be the one to  _ save them _ from the situation that, essentially, he,  _ himself _ had created for them. His chest constricted. The cool water from the sink faucet filled his mouth and he spit into the sink quickly before his laughter prevented him from holding anything in. 

Starting as merely a quiver, his hands shaking with the inevitable, the laughter soon bubbled over and spilled from his mouth in a rush, loud and unforgiving, bouncing off the walls of the tiny bathroom in a symphony of madness. It had been so easy. It had all been so easy! His head fell back from the rush of his hysteria, his laughter coloring his vision as he recalled how effortless it had been on his part to lie through his teeth. 

“The justice I uphold,” he spat, “-the justice I uphold!” He felt tears sting his eyes as he turned the handle for the shower to ‘Hot’ and stepped beneath the stream. “They just--” He fell, his laughter ceasing in an instant. His back hit the edge of the tub and his head hit the tile only once as he stared at the ceiling. Breathing became difficult. He could inhale deeply but letting go of each breath felt like, in his case, speaking the truth. His eyes searched the ceiling for the writing on the wall, his mouth open as he tried to exhale, “I-I-I-”

He finally released his breath and sucked in air greedily through his mouth, pulling his legs close so the water hit his ankles and feet, his eyes never straying from the ceiling.

_ Relax. _

Robin Hood.

He opened his mouth to speak again.

He could see him. Akira Kurusu.

_ ‘Is that the only way?’ _

_ ‘Is that the only way?’ _

_ ‘Is that the only way?’ _

_ ‘Is that the only way?’ _

Akechi shuddered, still staring at the ceiling but seeing only those  _ eyes _ .

He needed to breathe. He had to breathe! Akechi struggled and shook, still staring.

_ Relax. _

He exhaled suddenly but inhaled in the same second, the oxygen catching in his throat. 

Betrayal. Akira Kurusu somehow knew. He somehow knew. He somehow  _ knew he was being betrayed and-- _

Akechi felt his body heave, moving forcibly forward with the uncoiling of his back as if to empty everything inside itself, but there was nothing left to expel. There was nothing left. Nothing.

He gasped for air.

_ Relax. _

And his eyes finally fell closed.

He could remember the warmth of the oshibori on his face, those eyes so close to his, studying him, a firm grip on his chin, and the loss of control all power handed over in a single moment--

_ ‘Please let me keep this memory. Just this one.’ _

_ ‘I like it when you’re here.’ _

_ ‘I want things to change between us.’ _

_ ‘Not many people actually listen to me. You do.’ _

His words. His eyes. His kindness. These memories.

_ ‘Please let me keep this memory. Just this one.’ _

Laughter.

Loki!

Goro’s eyes shot open at the revelation, pain boiling into his skin in a rush of realization. He was burning. He was on fire. 

Akechi lunged forward in a scream to turn off the water, and when he fell back, he examined the damage that had been done to his feet as he finally regained the ability to practice breathing properly again in regular intervals, however rushed.

He’d burned them.

More laughter. 

He closed his eyes and smiled, “Thank you.”

No matter the intent behind his actions, Loki was always saving him, sometimes even from himself.

_ Your wounds. _

Goro opened his eyes again, knowing his other persona was right. He needed to do something quickly. It might even scar. He pulled the shower head down and the hose stretched to reach him as he sat in the tub. Turning the water to cold, he aimed the stream on his feet and ankles and bit his lip. Even with the damage visible, the pain felt distant, screaming that he’d carelessly harmed himself from some distant planet. There was no sound. He hadn’t meant to. He hadn’t meant to get so lost in his thoughts--his failings--he--

_ Endure. _

Akechi visibly scowled at his red skin. Robin Hood was nothing but good intentions; it was Loki that had snapped him out of his  . . . moment of weakness.

What a waste of time. He stared at the red skin. It might swell. That was fine so long as it didn’t blister.

He had work to do. Right. Shido wanted . . . what Shido wanted . . .

Murakami Kayo. He remembered her. She’d been kind. That had been more than a year ago now. He’d been stupid to leave that loose end hanging. As if he could trust someone to stay quiet. He couldn’t remember her partner’s name. He’d have to look into it again. 

He didn’t have time for this. He’d be working with the Phantom Thieves now. Starting tomorrow. He cursed his carelessness as the water made the rest of his body shiver.

He’d be infiltrating Sae’s palace and planning out how best to capture Kurusu Akira. He didn’t have time to deal with covering Shido’s ass over someone so small. A single reporter?

The picked up a foot and bent to see beneath it. It looked okay. He should be able to walk fine. Akechi stood up, determined to move on from his mistake quickly. At least the smell of vomit that had once hung in the air was gone. It had been a few weeks since his anxiety had brought him to gripping the toilet bowl so fiercely, but it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t happen much after this. As soon as the Phantom Thieves were taken care of, he’d be able to take care of Shido on his own. And once that was over . . . well . . . there would be nothing left to stress over, would there?

‘ _ Deal with it. _ ’

Right, because  _ it _ would be so easy. What method would it be this time? Murder? A mental shutdown? He’d have to find if she was potentially in Mementos somewhere or if she had a palace.

Murakami Kayo had been found in Mementos. He couldn’t even recall what her twisted desire had been more than a year ago. He had let her live.

_ You’d been soft. _

No, Loki was wrong. 

He’d been weak. For whatever reason, he hadn’t wanted to kill her, so instead, he’d . . . 

No, that was in the past now; it didn’t matter. He’d have to fix it now anyway. He’d need to take care of it as soon as possible. Tomorrow. He could start tomorrow, at least.

His first day as a Phantom Thief would be soon, so whoever Murakami’s partner had been, they’d have to wait until after he’d at least joined them and so would Shido.

Akechi looked down at his feet. He saw Akira’s eyes.

Betrayal.

A small part of him, the part that Robin Hood must reside in, wished he felt shame, but he was unfamiliar with that part of himself. He’d fallen out of touch back years ago now. But then, why had Robin Hood only appeared to him as recently as June . . . ?

 

* * *

 

“Yes. I have a secret about Akechi-san,” Akira spoke into the mic after being invited onstage by the MC. He’d personally never been a part of the such elaborate festivities, but it was clear that the MC had no ties to Shujin and therefore no knowledge that he’d just requested the school delinquent come on stage  entertain a population of students who were mostly too frightened of him to speak to Akira let alone look in his direction. As he walked around the side and stepped up on stage around decorations, he watched Ryuji’s eyes widen in surprise. Really, the spending budget of this school on completely unnecessary things was astonishing, and the students didn’t even seem to notice. Part of Akira wanted to write it off as a Tokyo thing, but TV dramas told him otherwise. Still, he saw an opportunity to get back at Akechi for his inevitable betrayal and he took it as soon as the little ‘ _ game show’ _ had been explained. He knew that at an event like this, especially on the day Akechi Goro, Detective Prince, had been present, there was sure to be some kind of press in the audience. So, this was his chance. 

He felt angry. Even several hours later, he couldn’t help but feel betrayed. He knew  _ something _ was coming; it was obvious even without Ann and Morgana and pancakes. Akechi was hiding something, had always been hiding something, and it had to do with the metaverse or the Phantom Thieves or both. He was part of a plot bigger than any of them had encountered thus far. Bigger than hackers or CEOs or gym teachers. But, Akira refused to believe that Akechi himself was the villain. Even if he was the one lying to him, even if he was the one who had set them up, and even if he was the one threatening to turn them in, Akechi was not the person in control. Still, that didn’t change the fact that the whole thing had been initiated by him, that he was again, a key player, that it was him that, ultimately, betrayed Akira. 

“Ouu, what’s this? A secret about Akechi-kun? Would anyone else like to hear?”

The crowd of high schoolers that had gathered cheered. Akira hid behind his glasses, and as he was handed a microphone, he kept a neutral expression, “Akechi-san is very practical.” Akira tried not to notice the sound of his voice on the speakers. Unlike Akechi, his voice wasn’t friendly, and he already had quite the reputation at Shujin, so taking center stage at an event like this was even more of a risk, but, then again, if he were that concerned with his image, he never would have risked it to save some total stranger on the street. 

The host continued speaking into his own microphone, ever supportive, “That’s true; it comes with his line of work to be logical.”

“So, his embarrassing secret is . . . he’s an extreme couponer.” Akira’s neutral expression remained unflinching despite the satisfaction he felt as the crowd began to erupt in gossip and chatter.

“What? Really? Everyone did you hear that?” the host gave just the right amount of enthusiasm to absolve Akira of any responsibility in the spreading of such rumor. 

Still, too eager to exact his revenge, Akira added flair to his fabrication, “He collects coupons. He waits for specials. He has an eye for discounts.”

“Wow! Say no more! It sounds like all fans of the detective prince are on the case! A detective on the hunt for freebies?” The crowd laughed as the MC gesticulated with far more enthusiasm than necessary for a high school festival. “His fans should help him out!” Again, the crowd went wild, many people pulling out their phones to either spread the word or begin spamming Akechi’s social networking accounts with coupon codes and sales.

In front of the crowd, Akira wished he could muster up the talent and grandiose style of Joker, but he could only manage a few words before his need to be out of the public eye finally drove him offstage, “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. With how much time his work takes out of him, he hasn’t had the opportunity to partake in the hobby he loves.”

“Thank you so much for sharing! A round of applause, everyone.” And, surprisingly enough, the students actually cheered. Akira knew better than to take it personally; they were all just eager to learn anything about the person they idolized so much. It was . . . kind of sad, actually. Here he was, absolutely no standing to credit his claim, and they all took it as an absolute truth as if Akechi himself had said it. Bizarre. People were so easily manipulated. Was it because they were so desperate to love him, or was it something else? Because truly, if that were the reason, then wouldn’t they be at least somewhat more careful about their sources, more concerned with where their information was coming from?

Akira handed the microphone back and walked offstage, glad to be out of the limelight. He found Ryuji and Mishima in the back of the room promptly and motioned to them to follow him as he exited the auditorium.

“Dude, what did you just do?”

“Payback,” he answered his best friend, walking past them to lead them to the roof. He would probably be the first person to somehow reveal their secret to some random passerby and get them all sent to jail. He’d already somehow inadvertently revealed his own secret as a Phantom Thief to too many people to count on two hands now. It was beginning to become unavoidable the more time he spent with others and the more they confided in him. There were too many people with corrupted desires, and Akira was too stubborn to allow his friends to continue being hurt if there was something he could do about it. Either way, the bonds he had formed with those people had proved to be strong enough thus far that none of them had even appeared to consider outing him as a Thief, so, his kindness was paying off. At least, that was how he had decided to interpret it.

“I don’t get it,” Ryuji responded, hands in his pockets, as he followed Akira up the stairs to the roof with Mishima trailing behind. Akira didn’t fault him for it. Ryuji was far more intelligent than his looks or speech gave him credit for; he’d called Akechi out on quite a bit in their short dialogue earlier. In all honesty, he’d said a lot of what Akira had been thinking and would never say aloud. However, Ryuji was never malicious, and, while Akira’s lie on stage wasn’t exactly malicious, it was certainly of ill intent, so he wouldn’t fault Ryuji for not understanding how it had amounted to revenge.

“It’s genius.” Mishima picked up his pace to catch up to them, and when Akira opened the door to the roof, he made sure no one else was out before holding it open for both of them. He wouldn’t go so far as to claim that his petty revenge was genius, but he let it slide and kept quiet. Now outside, Mishima went on to explain, “Akechi’s going to be bombarded with coupons now! People will send him those annoying ads you get in the mail, tissues, fliers, posters--just imagine! His mailbox will be flooded for weeks to come! Probably his email, too!”

Well, that was what Akira was hoping for at least. Maybe the amount of spam and junk mail he received would last him the duration of Sae’s palace. Take that, detective prince.

Ryuji burst into laughter as the pieces clicked into place. Mishima joined him and Akira smiled. When the blonde recovered, he ran a hand through his messy hair while holding some kind of food in his other and admitted, “That actually sounds pretty badass.”

Mishima was smiling the coy way he often did that made Akira feel just a tad bit nervous. “It’s also a really embarrassing secret. Some girls might find it cute.” He liked Mishima well enough, but sometimes he was a bit too dishonest with himself or even with others, though for the most part, the latter part often happened without him realizing it. He was still trying to help Mishima out with his self-confidence problem; it was an ongoing project. At this point, it was up to Mishima to make the next move; he would need to decide to change for himself. Akira couldn’t really do much for him until then except be honest with him and, as always, lend an ear when necessary.

“It’s Akechi,” Akira responded to the blue-haired boy. “I’m sure his fans think his shit sparkles,” he added. Okay, no, his lie and the subsequent result hadn’t been enough to relieve him of his anger over Akechi’s betrayal, _ yet _ , but it had at least been a start. He’d be over it soon; he just needed time, and, most likely, a good night’s sleep.

“Is it true?” Ryuji asked, curious and with an air of innocence that Akira hoped to god he never lost.

“What? About Akechi?” Akira found the old spot where they used to sit when they were meeting to discuss Phantom Thieves business-- their first hideout. It was nothing more than some old discarded chairs and a desk but it would do for now. He pulled a chair out for one of them to sit, sat down in the other one, and Ryuji set down his food on the desk and sat down beside it. 

“Yeah, aren’t the two of you, like, friends or something now or was that just, you know, a plot to get close to him or whatever?”

Mishima went quiet as he sat down in the other empty chair, and Akira could feel his eyes on him gauging his reaction.

Next to Akira, Ryuji was the worst about keeping the Phantom Thieves business private which was why Akira had immediately brought them to the roof after his little stint on stage.

Akira had been over his relationship with Akechi too many times now with the others, or, at least, it felt that way. “It started out like that, but now . . . No, we’re friends.” It wasn’t exactly what he wanted anymore, but he couldn’t quite name what it was that he was hoping for anyway, so he’d leave it at that. Friends.

“He’s giving us a lot of shit, man,” Ryuji frowned, his hand on the back of his neck now like he was nervous discussing the topic at all. 

Ryuji was worried for him, and Akira appreciated that. He also appreciated that his best friend could do so without nagging like Morgana had. It wasn't that he didn’t appreciate that Morgana cared; it was just that there were only so many ways one person could say the same thing. And, it wasn’t as if Akira didn’t know what he was getting into, at least to some extent. He wasn’t oblivious to Akechi’s faults. 

The leader of the Phantom Thieves stared up at the sky, gray eyes searching for stars. “The path to peace runs through hell.” Fuck light pollution.

“What?” Ryuji didn’t follow.

Mishima explained for him, “He means that before things get better, sometimes they have to get worse, first.”

“Then you think he isn’t actually going to follow through with that last part?” Ryuji managed to say cryptically as if Mishima didn’t already know their secret. To be fair, he didn’t know about the demands Akechi had of them, so Ryuji was still being careful of  _ unknowns _ .

Akira grinned mischievously, knowing full well he might regret everything tomorrow, but not caring now, “The couponing thing is a lie, but he’s still going to suffer for it,” Akira gave him a non-answer. 

Ryuji didn’t appear to be consoled by Akira’s confidence in the slightest, and so he tried being more specific in response to Akira’s lackluster response, “You don’t think he’s going to, you know, I don’t know, send us all to jail?” 

Akira shook his head and rubbed hair between his fingers, “If he was going to, he could have done so a while ago.”

Mishima’s eyes went wide, and he sat up at the end of his seat, “It’s that serious?”

“Man, don’t listen,” Ryuji growled.

“I’m sitting right here!” Mishima shot back.

Akira smiled. He needed this time to cool down; he was glad he’d decided to spend it with Ryuji.

Ryuji stood up and faced him, “I trust you.”

Akira did the same and let his gratitude for Ryuji’s genuineness show through in his smile, “Thank you. You’re a dependable friend.”

“Damn right,” he put up his fist. Akira met it with his own. “Oh,” he reached behind him and handed over the food to Akira, “Here, take this.”

“It looks . . . amazing,” which also meant  _ unidentifiable _ , so he added with a smirk, “Something only a true culinary artist could produce.”

Ryuji actually appeared bashful for a moment, looking down at the concrete of the rooftop before meeting Akira's eyes again,“I don’t know about all that, but it tastes pretty good.”

“Thanks, I’ll hold onto it. I ate festival food earlier.”

“Really?” Ryuji asked incredulously, likely not expecting that it would even be good to eat after today.

“Yeah, this was made with your love, after-all, so I’m sure it will be useful on a mission,” Akira responded.

“Dude, don’t say it like that,” Ryuji waved off the comment and Mishima watched on, perplexed.

As if on cue, his phone vibrated, and he pulled it out of his pocket to check the text. After tapping a quick reply, Akira pocketed his phone once more.

Ryuji sat back down on the desk and asked, “What is it?”

“Futaba. She’s ready, so I’m gonna take her home,” he gave a nod as he headed in the direction of the exit, “Catch you guys later.”

“See you, man.”

“Bye, Akira!”

 

* * *

 

Off the train, Futaba and Akira walked together down the narrow streets leading from the station to Leblanc. It was late enough that the drunks were on the streets but early enough that the bars were still open. It actually meant that the area was a bit more crowded than normal and a lot louder, but it was nothing compared to Shibuya, so both he and Futaba could easily avoid any unpleasantness.

“Where did the two of you go yesterday? You left Morgana.” Futaba was walking on the raised concrete that separated the road and the walls of property. Her arm was out to steady herself, but it didn’t appear to be necessary for her balance due to her size. Even though she wasn’t much younger than Akira himself, she still appeared so small. “After the takoyaki?” she clarified, not looking at him but instead being sure she didn’t trip on the pavement. 

“Oh, Akechi-kun and I went through the haunted house,” he replied.

“Really?” she asked in a tone that told Akira she had already had expectations at the ready and that particular answer hadn’t matched them.

“Yeah, he analyzed every scare,” Akira offered a partial truth. He didn’t know why he bothered. Maybe it would make Futaba smile. He looked over at her as she hopped off her balance beam to walk close beside him.

It worked.

“Did he open doors with a handkerchief or threaten the monsters with blackmail? Take video with his phone of their misdeeds?” her dramatics switched on in full otaku mode, and it made it Akira smile and shake his head. Everyone was dealing with Akechi Goro’s ‘ _ justice _ ’ in their own way.

“What did all of you do?” he asked, curious.

She shared with far more enthusiasm than he was expecting. Like him, she probably preferred to think about life before Akechi Goro had put an expiration date on the Phantom Thieves. It turned out that the Thieves had gotten into a fair amount of trouble without his guidance as they’d traversed the festival in search of entertainment and food. Outside Leblanc, Futaba hesitated to go to the door and instead squatted over by the plants Sojiro kept on the left. 

“I’m nervous about him joining us.”

“Why?”

“I get that you two are friends, but I can’t trust him. I think he is just trying to catch you in a lie.”

“You’re probably right, but he knows all there is to know at this point, right?”

Futaba shook her head, and it was clear to him that his farce of a carefree attitude would only take him so far. Words of comfort or assurance could only be said one too many times. Futaba had heard enough of it, and, at least in terms of Akechi Goro, he couldn’t convince her out of her suspicions and concerns. “Akira, you’re like a big brother to me. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Still holding the affectionately dubbed ‘ _Ryuji Dog_ ’ now covered and packaged in one hand, Akira squatted down in front of her, mimicking her posture, “I feel the same way.”

Futaba hadn't expected it, so a blush rose to her cheeks before she could defend herself against his proximity and she turned her head to look away as she all but pouted, “So, I get that he’s pretty, but don’t let him trick you.”

“Never. Besides, do I look like someone that can be won over by charm alone?” he moved his head down to look up at her over the rims of his glasses, and she rolled her eyes.

“More like you can win others over with charm alone.”

Akira wiggled his eyebrows, “Exactly.”

She laughed, warm and open, and then pushed him hard enough to throw him off balance and he stumbled quickly into a standing position again before he dropped Ryuji’s gift. It only made her laugh more.

“Smooth, Akira, smooth.” 

“Let’s go inside?”

She nodded and stood, and when they walked in, they say Sojiro in a booth seat waiting for them, eyeing them both with his mouth in a firm line. On the table in front of him was Futaba’s calling card.

“We need to talk. Sit down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kindness and patience~ Feedback appreciated~!


	15. 10/28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies! This isn't exactly new content. T- T Below, you will find Akechi's POV from the ['Pearl of Great Price'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13307856). I didn't do every bit of the conversations, and I hope that reading his POV feels reasonably different from reading Akira's. I tried to adjust the writing style as well. ~~also trigger warning for body horror and vomit~~  
> 

Kurusu Akira was nothing special. Average in the way he conducted himself, he kept his head down in public, hid his perceptive gray eyes behind glasses, spoke as few words as necessary, and even now, as he stood there at the edge of the pond looking out absently at the darkness, he did not stand out as anything memorable.

And yet.

Yet, he evolved into the one person who occupied Akechi’s thoughts above all others. Whether a soft touch or a word of kindness, a cup of coffee or an invitation, Akira had already proven time and time again that he, unlike anyone else, functioned as something more than the average person that Akechi interacted with. As honest as he was secretive, as kind as he was selfish, and, somehow, leader to the Phantom Thieves--effortlessly, so, Kurusu Akira's existence became a kind of contracted pestilence for Goro.  Even being labeled as a Phantom Thief, something kept Kurusu Akira separate from the others-- apart, a wild something that Akechi could never quite obtain for himself let alone name. Only able to treat symptoms, Goro recognized that the _average_ label he'd assigned Kurusu no longer fit because the virus traveled through his blood and beat through his heart to his brain and his fingertips and no one affected him in the same way.

He hadn't seen it coming.

When Akechi watched him like this, especially without his knowledge that anyone was watching him, Akechi had to repeat to himself that Kurusu Akira was indeed Joker. Despite it being very much the reality of the situation, Akechi couldn’t help but attempt to dissect him. Joker had no moments within the palace, at least of what Akechi had seen, in which he acted like Kurusu, or spoke like him, or moved like him, or even . . . or even looked like him--not in clothing but in his eyes. His eyes as they stared out at the pond, the manicured bushes and trees, and the heart made of golden beads, looked nothing like Joker’s eyes. Joker’s gaze was ravenous yet collected, mad but calculated, always steady yet passionate. Kurusu Akira, by comparison, was gentle, disinterested depending, sometimes mischievous, but never desperate. Perhaps a piece of Joker resided somewhere inside Kurusu Akira, but in Joker, what part of him was the silent delinquent?

Akechi’s life played out in front of him like a TV drama montage--snippets of the time they’d spent together that faded in and out.

The TV Station where they’d met. Shibuya station where he’d confronted his friends. Leblanc where he’d found, entirely by serendipitous accident, his only sanctuary only to find it haunted by the one person who was driving him to question his own sanity. The Haunted House where they’d apparently sealed their fate with some meaningless bond. Backstage, during the open forum where he’d betrayed his trust for the first time but by no means the last. And now.  And now. Watching Kurusu wait, his eyes searching the small park at the bottom of Roppongi’s tallest building, Akechi could only feel anger and frustration bubble up inside him until it rose up as bile in his mouth.

Kurusu Akira was nothing special, and Akechi wouldn’t lose to him, no matter how his rare laughter echoed in his mind minutes, hours after hearing it. No matter how his burning touch stained his skin leaving scars Akechi couldn’t wash off regardless of how hard he scrubbed. No matter how his attention, when directed only at Akechi, made Akechi feel like he was real, alive, like a person, a real human being.

Goro wouldn’t lose even to a disease that had already made a home inside his bones. He'd destroy it no matter what pound of flesh got in his way to extract it.

He was clean. He’d spent too long staring. It meant he was late. An apologetic expression would be most appropriate. He was ready.

The leader of the Phantom Thieves had been so lost in his own thoughts that Akechi walked around him and step in front of him all without being noticed immediately. “Forgive me, Kurusu-kun, I--”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Akira cut him off.

Akechi ignored the interruption. Such impolite behavior didn’t happen often, but it had happened enough that Akechi made effort in refusing to see the pattern.

Akechi glimpsed the navy blue bag that Akira held casually by white handles. The shopping bag was taped shut with a single piece of washi tape with tissue paper flaring out on either side of the handles. Apparently his errand had been completed without Akechi's help, which Akechi appreciated. Truthfully, he hadn’t wanted to come to Roppongi in the first place. He’d never wanted to spend another moment like this with Kurusu Akira, the two of them together, alone. At least, not until he was staring down the barrel of a gun pointed at Kurusu’s forehead.

“Yeah, actually. It’s already late. Should we get dinner?”

“Oh, sure.” Akechi replied, taken aback. He hadn’t expected the evening to continue. It wasn’t that late, but it was late enough that he shouldn’t be in Roppongi with the enemy having dinner.

“There’s a place downstairs.”

Akira smiled at him and Akechi automatically registered that he should do the same. Of course it wasn’t genuine, but he’d perfected it enough that it looked just as much authentic as Akira’s own. He’d fooled live-studio audiences, TV cameras, and even Masayoshi Shido. Kurusu Akira was nothing he couldn’t handle. He leaned forward slightly and gestured for Akira to step forward. “Lead the way.”

Akechi followed him, studying his back and grateful that, unlike their last encounter alone together, they were not holding hands with their wrists tied together. Familiar with the area, he didn’t suspect Kurusu of leading him astray. He took note that, despite it being Kurusu’s first time to the area, he appeared to know exactly where he was going. He wondered if he’d be able to do the same in palaces if he were alone like Akechi had been all this time. Akechi prided himself for his sense of direction though he never really spoke of it. It came naturally to him, unlike most things that he instead had to spend hours learning with additional hours of practice. He could travel somewhere once, and, despite the time between his first visit and the next, he’d remember signs, points of interests, street names, stores, restaurants, etc. By now, he knew with certainty he could travel nearly anywhere in Tokyo and find his way back to Shibuya. It helped for his outings on his bike which had, by now, become few and far between. So, when they turned the corner on the second floor, he knew of only thee restaurants there. He didn’t expect that Akira would stop in front of one clearly labeled as a bar. Before the other could open the door, Akechi put his hand on his shoulder to turn him around, “A bar?”

Upon seeing Akira’s neutral expression, Akechi quickly withdrew his hand. He followed his line of vision as the Shujin student pointed in the direction of the menu, “Pancakes?” Akechi didn’t bother reading it. Instead, Akechi’s eyes widened slightly, immediately suspicious. How had Kurusu known he liked sweet foods? No, there was no way he knew. He wasn’t choosing this restaurant for him; this must have been a choice born from his own interests.

Right?

Akechi forgot to smile.

He wished he was reading too much into Kurusu Akira, but he’d been surprised too many times to be left with that comfort. Everything the leader of the Phantom Thieves did with him was premeditated, right? That’s why he had to watch him, to study him, to analyze his every--

“You mentioned liking them once.”

“Oh, did I?” He didn’t remember that happening, but he’d play along.

He watched Akira nod silently and part of him wondered if the prongs on the forks inside were long enough to skewer beautiful, gray eyes upon.

His words shared nothing of the scene playing out in the theater of his mind. “Thank you so much for remembering. If you don’t want to eat them, however, we can certainly go somewhere else. I know that they’re not exactly savory, and most people would prefer their dinner not be so sweet.”

“I do.” Akechi watched him move to go inside, “Want to eat here, I mean.”

“Well then, let’s eat, shall we?” Akechi smiled with his teeth and soon enough they were seated off to the side by the window, alone without any other guests in earshot.

* * *

Akechi embraced the silence. He preferred it only because he didn’t have to wage war with words; however, the silence left him to wage war within his thoughts. He hadn’t been winning those conflicts lately. Surely, it had everything to do with the person who most occupied his mind--the scourge that was Kurusu Akira who, feigning innocence, now gazed emptily at the small park below that glowed quietly just out the window. Akechi assumed that Kurusu wasn’t actually looking at it, but, in an attempt to save himself from his own thoughts derailing into what Akira was actually thinking, he said, “The sculpture is Kin no Kokoro. There’s an expression, to have a heart of gold, that it’s referring to. To be sincere, kind, and generous without selfish motivation . . . That is what it means to have a heart of gold.”

When Kurusu spoke, he didn’t even look at Akechi and instead kept his eyes out the window, “Have you met someone like that before?”

“No,” Akechi replied automatically, perhaps brutally honest but seeing no fault in being so over something so trivial.

He watched Kurusu smile and finally look over to him, so he turned away so that their eyes never met. “You’re not even going to consider the possibility?” he heard the other ask him.

“I don’t think humans have golden hearts.”

“Right, we’ve talked about this before,” Akira claimed.

“Yes, we have,” Akechi remembered.

When silence took residence between them, Akechi recalled the conversation from back then. How had Akira parsed so much from a conversation over favorite films? Why hadn’t he seen that coming?

“What about the Pearl of Great Price?” he heard him ask.

“Hmm?” Goro looked over at the other with his eyes only and noticed the way the light from the candle between them flickered across Akira’s face and hair as he elaborated,

“One thing to value above all else? That’s what I thought of when I saw the sculpture.”

“I’m not familiar with the idea,” Akechi admitted with a small frown. For once, he wasn’t aware of just what the other was alluding to. He wouldn't let it damage his pride.

“We read something about it in literature class when discussing meter. It’s something about a merchant who trades all of his belongings for a single pearl. The pearl is _faith_ , I think? Entry to Heaven? Something like that.”

Akechi watched as the other turned his body to face him; he did the same but moved the cushion from behind him to beside him, leaning back against the chair to leave his back straight.

“Something worth trading everything for?” Akechi knew of only one thing.

His revenge.

Or his mother’s.

Or theirs.

Or, well, no, really-- just his.

Akechi studied the single, white amaryllis on the table between them.

Amaryllis had stabbed herself in the heart thirty nights in a row just to gain the attention of a single man. His mother's attempt at the same tactic obviously hadn't worked. And why had she hid her arms beneath the sheets? Had she assumed he wouldn't have been the one to find her, calling out to her and searching for her hands when she wouldn't respond? Had she assumed he wouldn't have gotten into bed beside her to understand why she wasn't moving? Had she assumed he wouldn't have seen her white nightgown stained red, the same as her skin and the same as the sheets when he pulled the covers over both of them to spend the day in bed to feel her body grow stiff and cold?

“Maybe, the ability to turn back time?”

And if he did, what would he change?

Oh, of course. Everything. He'd change everything.

After all, Alteo still didn't care for Amaryllis after he opened the door on the thirtieth night, only the flowers that had sprouted around her red with her blood.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. What I mean is, I’d like to look back on precious memories.” He smiled, bemused only with himself. Breathing smiles and blinking glitter, he knew Akira was past believing most of it, but it didn't keep him from trying. Even if Kurusu Akira waged war against his white blood cells; his pride wouldn't allow him to drop his armor.

Kurusu didn't seem eager to comment on it, and for that, Akechi felt a small bit of gratitude. He hadn't been expecting his next question, however.

“How’s the couponing going?”

The couponing?

Akechi's eyes finally left Amaryllis behind.

How on Earth would Kurusu know about his sudden onslaught of spam and gifts his fans had recently drowned him in? Not unless--, “What? That was you?” When Kurusu didn't say anything, Akechi figured he was leaving him up to piecing it together. The sudden uptick in e-mails had started the evening after he'd confronted the Thieves. Likely, his current inconvenience was Kurusu's poor attempt at payback. “I never suspected you would be so petty.”

“Petty?" the other asked, popping his fingers one by one, much to Akechi's irritation, "You’d known about the thieves all this time, and you waited until you could blackmail us to come forward with the truth?”

Akechi inwardly burned as he watched the other's lips curl in satisfaction, clearly amused and pleased with himself for pulling off such a ridiculous prank. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing him upset, Akechi returned the same smile, letting his words retaliate where he could not, “I suspect I’m seeing a new side of you, Kurusu-kun.”

He watched Akira lean back in his chair, but their eyes held fast as he spoke, "A deep-rooted hatred of people? _Sickening_ human beings? Now that, I believe.”

Akechi sat up and crossed his arms. He had said that, hadn't he, in the comfort of Leblanc? Even though the others had been there? Maybe, in his attempts to gain their trust, he'd revealed too much of his true feelings? Could he blame viruses for brainwashing? “I said _some_ people--not all people." The amaryllis was still white. After all, only the corrupt deserved to be brought to justice; only they earned the title of _sickening_. "I did mean what I said, however.” Right?

_Right._

“It was one of your more shining moments.”

Shining moments? Akechi smiled through his annoyance. What the hell was Kurusu getting at? “How do you mean?”

“You’re more relatable when you’re honest . . . like Ann said.”

Akechi watched the boy across from him once again play with bangs. The telling habit appeared to surface at least once every time they met. “Relatable?" he asked, finding offense to the word but signaling such only in the question that failed to match both his expression and tone, "What are you trying to say?”

Akira tilted his head down, which caused the lenses of his glasses to catch the light,  “Akechi-kun, don’t be in a bad mood. This is our first date after all.”

He'd heard that tone of voice before: flirtatious and devious. On that rainy day in Leblanc when it had been only the two of them, he'd never felt so--He didn't want to remember. Akechi re-positioned himself and leaned over his elbow that he'd now firmly planted onto the surface of the table, “Please.”

“I’m not pretty enough?” All but a pout.

The detective rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair before straightening his back. He used his movements as a diversion. Kurusu was infuriating, and it took efforts to hide how much he wanted to scrape that smug expression off of his face, “You hold me to be so vain?”

“You’re avoiding the question.” Definitely pouting this time.

He was just trying to get under his skin, but by now such attempts were pointless. Didn't Akira know he was already there? Just beneath the surface? Burning through his veins and rolling over muscle and silently, slowing eating him alive?

“Akira I--”

Akechi caught himself, his eyes going wide as he watched Akira's do the same. When he smiled, Akechi looked away immediately, shocked by how his words had betrayed him, pink with frustration over how humiliating it was for Akira to think it meant something it didn't. He wouldn't look at him like that when he was dead.

Right?

_ Right. _

And he realized, no one would look at him like that when he was dead.

“Yes, Goro, dear?”

“Enough." From his tone of voice, he may as well have said _asshole_. Kurusu enjoyed whatever power he could exert, any point he could score, so long as it meant that Akechi suffered for it. Akechi turned his attention out the window. If he looked at the person across from him another second, his mask might crumble, and, from what he'd seen of Kurusu thus far, it might only encourage him to mock him further.

“We went from strangers to a bickering old couple in seconds. It’s a shame we skipped the honeymoon phase.”

“Why did I agree to this?” Though a rhetorical question, he wanted Akira to say something ridiculous anyway because if he was left to change the subject on his own, he'd end up revealing that all his thoughts only led back to him no matter the diversion. “Also, do you have any idea how many copies of the same flier I have now? Every account I have is just, essentially, flooded with spam. My fan club sent me several items from that American bulk store-Costco was it? I have twenty-four toothbrushes. Twenty-four.” He'd managed to gain his composure well enough to look back at Akira, who was still grinning. He technically had one toothbrush; any gifts he received from fans either ended up donated somewhere or thrown away. He couldn't stand to keep them.

“It must be tough work caring for those pearly whites,” Akira replied.

“Nevermind. You’re enjoying this. You--”

The waitress interrupted them then and Akechi watched their food appear before them. The distraction of a meal was a welcome one. After agreeing to a refill on his water and ordering a lemonade, Goro stared for only a moment before setting to work. The presentation was decent for a savory plate. The slices of avocado on Kurusu's pancakes actually appeared to be more aesthetically appealing than the assortment of vegetables on his own. However, he wouldn't ask to photograph Kurusu's plate; that would be too much. Instead, Akechi folded the napkin and tucked it under his own plate so that the logo showed. He pushed the condiments aside as well as his silverware and moved the flower and candle closer. After taking out his phone, he snapped a photo. Dissatisfied, he moved the candle to one side and the flower to the other. The waitress arrived with the drink he ordered, and he placed it beside the white amaryllis. He snapped a final photo after moving the candle out of the frame entirely. With his job finished, he looked up to see Kurusu watching him, his plate untouched. "What is it?"

“You always photograph food?" His cocky demeanor had disappeared entirely.

Akechi couldn't decide if he liked that or not because he hadn't been ready for the transition as it must have happened when he'd been transfixed on his photography. “I . . . run a food blog.” He didn't say anything about the second question.

“What’s it called?”

Akechi narrowed his eyes as he watched Akira take out his phone, his food still untouched, “You’re interested?”

“It’s yours.”

Akechi felt his cheeks heat, this time not from humiliation, but genuine disorientation, "What are you— you’re irritating.” Akira's eyes were so open, transparent, brilliant in color and depth and he'd said those two words so easily as if they meant everything, as if they were honest,  as if Akechi deserved them.

“So what is it called?” Akira clearly hadn't been affected by the half-hearted insult.

“Proof is in the Pudding.” Akechi gave up and watched as Akira tapped on the screen of his phone, the light from the screen lighting his face and reflecting in his glasses.

“It’s an idiom," he explained, "It means that you can judge something only once you’ve tried it.” He shifted in his chair, picking up his utensils and cutting away at the food without actually eating it.

“Is it only sweets?”

“No, but . . . mostly,” he spoke to the food on his plate, no longer able to look up. Kurusu viewed his photos, read his reviews, and observed, essentially, one of the few things in this world he'd actually created. How had this suddenly happened? How had he suddenly learned even more about him? Sure, it wasn't anything his fans didn't know but somehow it being Akira meant something different. That didn't make sense. A food blog could in no way be used as a weapon against him.

Why didn't rational thought ever prevail in Kurusu's presence?

He'd lost that day, hadn't he? That had been the day he'd become sick somehow.

And he'd been sick ever since.

Or wait, hadn't he decided that he'd always been sick?

Right?

_ Right. _

He couldn't remember the final verdict.

Perhaps there had never been one.

“Wow, this is . . . really impressive actually. You update this every week?”

“I try to.” He had to gain control again, but he felt lightheaded, unsure; indecisive didn't fit him.

“It’s cute.”

“Kurusu, really .  . .” Calling his blog cute. Calling something he created cute. It shouldn't matter.

_ 'It's yours.' _

Akechi closed his eyes, but even in the darkness, he still saw gray eyes, so he opened them again to stare at his food. He had to treat the symptoms.

“Leblanc isn’t here?” Kurusu asked.

“No."

_ 'It's yours.' _

"Nor will it ever be,” he declared with weary finality.

He saw Akira move, and, without thinking, looked up from his food to meet his eyes. He looked away immediately.

Kurusu's gray eyes blinked thoughtful and soft, searching for Goro's to learn what Goro never wanted to share. Concerned and perhaps even invested, Kurusu continually injected deadly pathogens into his veins until the virus succeeded in effectively transforming Akechi into something new. Goro couldn't stand for him to look at him like that. He'd done it in the haunted house and in Leblanc. What if he kept doing it the more time they spent together? He hated him for what he represented, for what he was and Goro wasn't, for what he had and Goro didn't, but-- was it true? Kurusu didn't hate him at all? Instead, he--?

_ He doesn't know. _

That's right.

_ He doesn't know. _

Of course.

_ 'It's yours.' _

Why would he never share Leblanc? Kurusu Akira was there.

“It’s a . . . special place for me.”

Akira said nothing else, and, in their silence, Akechi attempted to eat.

He was losing. There was still so much left to do and he was losing.

* * *

After their emptied plates were taken, they were soon replaced with a single plate in the center of the table that contained a fluffy dessert pancake with fresh strawberries and mango slices. Akechi's eyes widened at the arrangement of powdered sugar and thin lines of syrup that gave the appearance of lace on the plate. Before Akechi could say anything, Akira began moving the flower and the candle aside as well as their drinks. Without a word, he moved the extra silverware to Akechi's side of the table and folded the napkin, as Akechi had done earlier, to slip it under the plate.

Akechi understood what was going on, and he didn't like it at all. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly.”

“Go ahead. Take a photo. Your review wouldn’t be complete without a dessert option.”

Akechi took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Without another word, he took the photo. Kurusu's intention that they share the pancake was clear. The implications did not go unnoticed by Akechi, even as he mechanically raised fruit to his mouth.

Dates weren't a part of his reality. Romantic involvement applied to his cases or targets or just other people in general--never to him. What he was feeling now was a trick. All of it was a game. For Akira. He just-- He didn't mean any of it. He couldn't mean any of it because he was lying. Or he was just confused and he wasn't taking any of this seriously anyway and--

_ 'I meant what I said.' _

No, he couldn't.

_ 'I want to know everything about you.' _

No, he didn't.

_ 'It's yours.' _

Gray eyes. The restaurant provided such dull forks.

Once Kurusu found out, then he'd be abandoned again, even as a form of entertainment.

All of this-- the coffee, curry, conversation, red string, and pancakes-- the film and the music and the words that echoed in his head as though they'd just been said-- they were all killing him. And they all came from Kurusu. Kurusu was trying to destroy him. He really was. So Akechi needed-- he needed to--

_Soon._

Soon.

He gasped softly, put down his fork, and stood up to leave, “Excuse me.” Akechi walked away from the table, out the door of the restaurant, down the walkway to the bathrooms.

In the stall, he faced the toilet to lift the seat, pulled back his hair with his right hand and pointed the index finger of his left up his open mouth until it hit the back of his throat and triggered just the right spot to send dessert and dinner forward and into the toilet.

He watched dead cells float in the water before pressing the lever to flush. No matter how sick Kurusu Akira made him, he wouldn't give in. He wouldn't give up.

It wasn't a habit, not anywhere close, but he'd done it enough times to have learned to do it efficiently, cleanly, with no trace of his disgust.

And that's all it was really: disgust.

He could not eat food cooked by the first person he'd wanted dead.

He could not digest the few meals he'd shared with Shido purely out of principle.

He could not stomach the idea that Kurusu had taken his intentions, honest or not and unspoken as they were, so far as to insist that this evening had been a date-- one in which they held some kind of mutual affection for one another.

Disgusting.

The only thing he wanted of the leader of the Phantom Thieves was his death.

Right?

He waited.

_ Soon. _

Akechi listened that the bathroom was empty before stepping out of the stall to wash himself free of his disgust.

He continued the mantra in his mind as he washed hands, rinsed his face, gargled water, and washed his hands again. Akechi was in control; he would remain in control. Kurusu could debilitate him as much as he liked, but Akechi would endure. He had to, at least until it was time. At least until then.

Laughter bounced off the walls of the empty bathroom as Akechi studied his perfect, tight-lipped smile that curled up just enough to look warm. The laughter continued as he adjusted his eyes, moving his eyebrows to appear guiltless and gentle.

He touched the mirror, reaching out for his eyes that had too many times betrayed him. He pressed at the glass, scratched at it, attempting desperately to mar the surface of the virus's entry point. He only gave up when the laughter ran out, Loki growing bored with his pathetic attempts at self-preservation.

Goro smiled once more at his reflection, and after he walked out, it lingered in the glass a moment, eyes bloodied above a pleasant grin.

Soon.

_ Soon. _

When he returned to their table, he noticed the pancake mostly gone with a quarter, cut quite accurately, waiting for him. He sat down, smile set perfectly, having no idea how long he'd kept the other waiting.

After the detective downed the rest of his water, Akira finally spoke, “Are you okay?”

“Yes." Akechi attempted caution, but was perhaps too careful. Kurusu was already inside his bones, so what did it really matter now?

“I left the rest for you.” Akira said gently as if coaxing Akechi, the frightened beast, to eat from his hand.

He would not. “I’m afraid I’m full.”

“Oh.” He heard Akira retreat inside himself.

It was for the best. “Let’s go.”

* * *

He could remember this. At one point, it had happened. When? When? He couldn't remember. Oh, her face. That's right. He could remember that she smiled. But then later she didn't. She didn't smile at him anymore. It was his fault. His curse. It was the reason why he was alone and why he'd always be alone and why he had to be alone even if--

Even if.

Even if Kurusu Akira thought that he belonged there beside him.

What had he done? Where had he gone wrong?

He wanted to say that visiting Leblanc had been a mistake, but no--he'd made so many more mistakes before that. What had happened?

He'd caused that accident. So many people had been hurt. Oh but no, he'd killed before then, never mind after. Before then. His first victim--right, her, Ishihiki. But no, he'd made mistakes before that, too. Before even killing. What had led up to that?

Shido. His father. He'd sought out his father. How stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. He'd been such a stupid child.

Was he still?

And before that. Before that, too. Of course, he'd . . . he'd done too much.

He'd been so lucky, so lucky, and he'd only answered that luck with his curse. He was cursed to bring suffering upon those around him. Especially, especially, especially her and her and the ones who mattered the ones who tried.

It had been all his fault. Even looking back--even looking back at it now 18 and he still saw it so clearly. He'd been the reason despair had taken her. And she had died. And she had lost everything, too. So his first mistake?

Being taken in?

No.

Before that.

Trying.

Haha, no, no, before that.

_ 'Sometimes I wish you'd never been born.' _

Oh.

There it was.

His mistake was that he'd been born. His existence itself was a mistake. If he was a mistake, then, of course, everything he'd do was a mistake, Everything.

His mother.

The one who tried.

Shido.

His victims.

Akira Kurusu could just be added to his incredibly long list of mistakes with his own life being there at the top.

"Why the detour?"

Akira.

Living. Dying. Dead. Soon. In less than a month. It was all his fault. He was going to die and it would be all his fault.

But then he would be free.

"Tokyo Tower?"

_ You're going to kill him, and this will be over. _

"That's right." Goro acknowledged Loki’s whisper aloud.

_ It will be over then. Isn't that a reason to keep going? Your brilliant revenge? Your final rebellion? Shido's expression when you point the barrel of your gun in his face, press it against his forehead, and watch his eyes go wide in panic? Isn't that reason enough? _

"It is."

Kurusu moved closer.

Akira would die.

_ It will be over soon. _

_ Once he is dead, you won't have to feel this way any longer.  _ Akechi hadn't expected such words from Robin Hood.

_ Of course not. _

He wouldn't have to feel like this ever again.

_Never again._

And he wouldn't have to want. Nothing would get in the way. Nothing would get in the way. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

This was all he had.

Shido was he had.

His revenge was all he had.

All.

Everything.

It meant everything.

Akira would never get in the way of that.

_ He won't win, _  Loki promised.

_ He won't,  _ Robin assured .

"I want to . . . call you by your first name.”

Was Tokyo Tower always so red? Even from here? Was his vision just stained from the blood in his eyes?

And was breathing always so difficult? Was Kurusu choking him? Was he killing him? Did he want him to die?

Of course, he did because he knew, didn't he? That's why he was trying to get closer to him. It was like him and Shido. If he got closer, then it would be that much more satisfying when he finally brought him to his knees. That's what Kurusu wanted. He wanted to break him at his highest point. That's what he'd do. He'd do that if he showed him any kind of weakness. All planned. He couldn't be trusted. How disgusting. Of course, that's what Kurusu wanted. He wouldn't let him. He wouldn't be allowed to get any closer. Not at all.

“No one calls me by my first name.”

“All the more reason.” Disgusting. He thought--he thought he could touch him like this, an embrace that was making him feel like he was being strangled-- a death grip that was a prelude to his undoing. No. No. He would not get what he wanted. Akechi would not give it to him. He had come too far. Akira would not stop him. He wouldn't. Nothing would stop him. He'd kill Shido. He'd make him pay. He'd make him regret everything, and no one would stop him--nothing nothing nothing nothing. Especially not him.

“Stop what you’re doing, Kurusu.” A threat. He shouldn't have. It was Akira's fault. He'd threatened him first with his hold--his grip--his disgusting behavior and his soft words.

And his eyes.

And his encroachment.

“No.”

He'd kill him now if he didn't have a plan in place already.

Akechi broke free suddenly, knowing that another minute in that hold might have broken him entirely. Fuck Kurusu Akira. Fuck him and his plan and his touching and his disease that corroded him from the inside out making him hollow to the point that only Akira could echo inside him.

No one touched Goro. And no one cared about him, either. No one did. Kurusu Akira wasn't any different. He wasn't different, and he wasn't special and he didn't care and he just wanted to fuck with him. That's all this was. He just wanted to fuck with him and then take him down later. Expose him, that's what Kurusu Akira wanted to do.

But it wouldn't happen; it wouldn't.

Their eyes met.

Always a risk.

Always.

Endless gray transporting him a world away to a place silent and hollow and chillingly alive.

Goro felt it now. Something around his heart, squeezing it tightly forcing it not to move, to remain still, to not allow another single beat.

Akechi willed his eyes crawl back out, but they couldn't find their way. Why was Akira looking at him like that? What had he found himself inside? Adoration? Concern? Love?

Love?

But no-NO, no one could look at him that way. For a brief moment, he could remember what it meant, but it quickly died with the recollection that all of them had, too. And if they had, then so too would Kurusu, so it would just be better if he died without the regret or remorse or pain because he had to keep going to kill Shido, and, if he was going to live until then and only one of them could survive, then Kurusu wouldn't mind dying, right?

Right?

_ Right. _

_ Run. _

"Hey."

He was making this too difficult. Did he have any idea how badly Akechi wanted to kill him right now? Any idea? Any idea at all?

"Akechi?"

His voice was poison. If he swallowed it down, what would it do? What kind of poison did Kurusu Akira leave on his tongue? Would it paralyze him, attack the nervous system? It would probably work like hydrofluoric acid. He was painless until, without you realizing it, he had gotten deep into your bones and was eating straight through the tissue, so there would be no hope of survival because you wouldn’t even know he was killing you until you were nearly dead. He'd keep burning through until Akechi killed him. If he wanted to survive the poison, he’d have to kill him soon. If he wanted to survive the virus, he'd have to kill him soon.

If he wanted to survive himself, he'd have to kill him soon.

_ Soon. _

Soon, he wouldn't have to deal with this person-this enigma-this black void that, when they met, just swallowed him whole and destroyed whatever was left of his resolve.

He met his eyes again. No, he couldn't. That's right. Akechi had gotten rid of them in the bathroom. There was nothing there in his sockets. Of course! Of course!

You're not going to find anything.

_ Nothing here. _

Just his desire to end Akira’s life. To end Shido's life. To end his own life. To end everything. There existed nothing else here aside from the desire to destroy.

That's why he was a killer. That's why he stole. That's why he was a parasite trying to learn to break free.

But he was a mistake. That was the joke. You can't stop being a parasite. You're born one, and you remain one, and then you die one-- even if you find a new host. Even if you find a new host, it doesn’t change what you are.

Freedom? Independence?

The ability to live alone.

He'd never be that person because he was not born that person and if you're born cursed, you can't undo the curse. He'd been sentenced to failure the moment he'd been born.

_ ‘Sometimes I wish you had never been born.’ _

“I got you something, actually. I forgot to give it to you earlier.”

“What?” Akechi held out his hands at the request for more information to process what had just been said. A small box was placed in his hands, and Akechi wasted  no time in opening it to examine the contents. Cool and smooth, round and hard, the little charm of lacquered wood turned over in his hands as he examined it.

It looked like Loki.

"It's not a big deal."

Did he know?

". . . just reminded me of you."

He heard laughter.

Of course not.

His tie.

A gift? What was it for? What did it mean? Why a gift?

Akira.

Akira.

Akira.

In his heart.

In his veins.

In his bones.

"It's really nice actually."

"It's not a big deal."

Akechi felt his lips curve upward. He hadn't meant to. "Yes, you said that." He'd been disarmed. He'd let Kurusu surprise him. Again.

"It's like you tie." He sounded nervous.

Akechi looked away from reaching gray skies, "Yes, I gathered." He didn't hear him speak as he continued to press the gift into his hand, feeling it, touching it, sliding it open-- “Oh, it turns.” His face, complete with bloodied, empty eyes, stared back at him. “It’s a mirror.” With mutilated eyes, how could he see his reflection?

“I didn’t realize.”

“Where did you find this?” Akechi, convinced of his skills in deception, willingly met Kurusu's eyes again.

“A store.”

Akechi looked back down at his reflection and sighed, shaking his head at his lapse in sanity. The truth was staring him in the face.

Akira sounded nervous still, cautious, as if he hadn't been the one just assaulting Akechi with words and hands and gifts, “It’s not a big deal. If you don’t like it you--”

“No, it’s not that. I--” Akechi stopped, mid sentence. What was he going to say? That he liked it? That it was perfect? That he was thrilled to have a physical piece of Akira Kurusu hanging at his side in addition to the the virus that screamed and hissed inside him? He smiled with no hint of malice, pain, or even disgust, “Thank you.”

“Yeah. It’s nothing.”

* * *

Akechi was grateful for the few people on the train ride home. It meant Akira likely wouldn't attempt conversation. It meant he wouldn't have to look at him. It meant he could hold the illness in just a bit tighter without having to reach desperately at his crumbling edges of his deteriorating flesh.

Soon?

_ Soon. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Doing the final edit of this, and it's super weird how little Akechi takes in of Akira despite what he claims. Like, you can barely tell what is going on if you don't read Akira's pov; this is not good--omg OTL feedback totes welcome and encouraged on this weird writing style~~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> 


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